Reader's Special: 4th Edition 1 Shot Reward Stories
by Disasteriffic Kaz
Summary: A collection of 1 Shot Reward Fics for Prompters of my Reader's Special: Fourth Edition. Features many seasons, hurt/limp/awesome/caring!Sam/Dean/John/Bobby See each chapter for specific info for each 1 shot reward fic.
1. Chapter 1 for Jenjoremy

**Title:** Reader's Special: Fourth Edition - One Shot Reward Fic Collection

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** A collection of 1 Shot Reward Fics for Prompters of my Reader's Special: Fourth Edition. Features many seasons, hurt/limp/awesome/caring!Sam/Dean/John/Bobby See each chapter for specific info for each 1 shot reward fic.

**Author's Note:** The Reader's Special: Fourth Edition was a smashing success! Prompters of the story were offered a One Shot Reward story of their choice. These are they. None of the chapters contained in this collection are connected. Each one is a stand-alone one shot per the Prompters request. Thank you to all of you who prompted the Reader's Special! You were fantastic as always!

**Chapter Info:** For Jenjoremy - A crossover with Grimm where the boys travel to Portland for a possible hunt, pose as agents and speak with Nick and a certain Blutbad during Grimm Season 1, any season of SPN. All plot details up to you but work in a visit to the trailer if possible.

**A/N: **So, meshing these 2 shows is a bit of a problem since they have two completely different mythologies. Hopefully, I've pulled this off with a little tap-dancing. Season 1 of both shows just to make it easier on me. :D  
If you haven't seen/don't know Grimm…I recommend it. Great show. Good stories and characters and a wonderfully developed world of supernatural beasties that can hide in plain sight from the likes of you and me…unless you're a Grimm.

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

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"I'm still not sure this is even a job," Sam said as he glanced through the newspaper clippings in his lap for the third time.

"There's bodies on the ground that look like they've been used for chewtoys." Dean shrugged in the driver's seat. "And last time I checked, Portland, Oregon didn't have a rep for the public being eaten on a daily basis."

Sam chuckled and folded the articles away. "Ok, fine. Well, whatever it is, it's not a werewolf. Only one of these kills happened on a full moon." He ran a finger through the frost on the inside of the window and shivered. "How come we can't end up this far north in the summer?"

"'Cause our luck sucks." Dean snorted a laugh and took the exit into Portland. The sun was just starting to set on the horizon behind them. The city lights started to glow as they drove down toward the city. It was big, and it'd been a while since Dean had been up this far North. "We'll find a motel and then hit up the local P.D. for info."

"Yeah, we'll have to." Sam shook his head. "I tried getting into their servers when we stopped for lunch but there aren't any reports for these killings on their system. It's kind of strange. It's like someone erased them."

"Huh. Maybe whatever's doing the killing can pass for human and works for the police." Dean scowled. "That could make things complicated."

"Let's not borrow trouble." Sam hoped that wouldn't be the case. "I did get one name from the system in connection with the deaths, even though there weren't any reports. A detective. Uh…" Sam flipped through his notes for the name. "Nick Burkhardt." He frowned and looked down at the city as they neared. "Have we ever been to Portland for a job before?"

Dean thought about it for a moment and tapped the wheel. "You know, I don't think so. Big city like this…that's kinda weird all by itself."

They drove into the city proper and found a motel not too far from where the murders had taken place but, Dean hoped, far enough away to keep them out of harm's way while they slept. Dean got them a room and only groaned once at the cheesy, macramé décor. "Think this place got left over from the seventies."

Sam laughed when Dean got tangled in the beaded curtain blocking the bathroom door. "Could be worse."

"How? Piece of crap," Dean growled and tugged several beaded cords free of his collar.

"There could be lava lamps." Sam grinned at his brother's disgusted face and tossed his bag on the far bed. He pulled out his suit while Dean snarled his way into the bathroom and changed quickly. He was arguing with his tie by the time Dean came out, already dressed, and Sam resisted the urge to kick him for using a clip-on tie. "You know that looks unprofessional."

"Whatever, bitch. I'm good to go and you're still gonna be screwin' with that thing when we get there." Dean smiled broadly at him and nodded happily when Sam flipped him off. "Come on. Let's go play Fed with the locals."

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The Portland police department was bigger than Dean expected and he couldn't help the occasional nervous twitch as they passed cop after cop and then stood in the elevator with several uniformed officers on their way up to the detective's bullpen. He glanced at his brother and saw the same tension in his face. It wasn't that long ago that Dean's face was on wanted posters, and, while he was technically 'dead', thanks to the shifter, it was possible wanted bulletins were still sitting in offices somewhere waiting to trip them up at a moment's notice. The elevator doors opened and Dean stepped quickly off with Sam at his side. They got more than one curious look as they strode down the hall.

"This looks like it," Dean said and pushed open a set of glass-windowed doors into a busy squad room. "Yep. Dick central," he said under his breath, looking at the many men and women in street clothes milling around various desks.

Sam elbowed his brother with a grimace. "Behave."

"Can I help you find someone, gentlemen?" A shorter looking man of Asian descent in uniform greeted them with a wide smile.

"Yeah. Agent Hendrix." Dean flipped open his badge. "My partner Agent Manilow." Dean quirked a smile when he heard Sam's soft snort. "We're looking for a Detective Burkhardt."

"Didn't think they let pretty boys like you two be federal agents. I'm Sergeant Wu." Wu laughed and waved them in. "I kid. I kid. Over here. Nick! Got a couple new faces for you. Don't get excited. They're Feds. Agents Hendrix and Manilow."

Dean watched the man rise from his desk and turn to look at them. He was young and wearing a beat up leather jacket that Dean had to admire and shaggy dark hair that made him think of his brother. "Detective Burkhardt."

Nick looked up at both men and couldn't stop the smirk as he glanced at Agent Manilow. "Manilow? Any…"

"No relation," Sam said quickly and didn't give in to the temptation to kick his big brother. "We have some questions about a few unsolved murders in your city."

"Yeah, our boss got a bug up his ass and Manilow here ticked him off last week flirtin' with his wife. Hey!" Dean laughed and batted Sam's elbow away. "My partner's a little sensitive about it."

Nick chuckled and put a hand over his mouth to hide the smirk. "Uh, yeah. Sure. What murders? We've got a few to choose from."

Dean gave a wry, understanding smile. "I bet, in a city this size. These would be memorable."

"Bodies with their guts ripped out and signs of, well…" Sam shrugged. "…that, uh, someone ate some of the…remains."

"Oh, those." Nick's face closed down and he didn't miss the way Dean's eyes narrowed knowingly at him. "They're unsolved and we don't have any leads." Federal agents asking about kills he damn well knew were Wesen in origin was about his worst nightmare and these two didn't look like they'd be easily put off. He smiled and tried to look innocent, glad that his partner, Hank, wasn't there to laugh at his attempt. "There's really not much I can tell you."

"We'd like to see the reports," Sam said with an easy smile and didn't miss the way the detective had suddenly closed down. The man knew something he didn't want to say, and, much as Sam hated to admit it, it added weight to Dean's theory that maybe someone in the police department wasn't as human as they seemed…like perhaps Detective Burkhardt.

"I'll have to talk to my captain," Nick said and shrugged apologetically. "If you guys can come back…"

"We'll come back tomorrow." Dean clapped a hand to Sam's shoulder and gave him a nudge toward the door. "Make sure you've got 'em ready."

Nick watched the agents leave and scrubbed a hand through his hair. "That was way too easy," he muttered.

"Dude!" Sam hissed once they were in the hallway. "He knows something and we're just leaving?"

"No shit." Dean snorted. He slapped the button for the elevator. "He's not gonna tell us a damn thing, and sure as hell not in the middle of the squad room." He stepped into the elevator when the doors opened and grinned at Sam. "I say we make a quick visit to the morgue, have a look at the bodies, and then tail our friendly neighborhood detective when he leaves work. See what he gets up to off the clock."

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Sam climbed out of the Impala and looked dubiously at the storage facility they'd followed the detective to. "Looks like Bobby's junkyard." The yard beyond the tall, chain link fence was packed with trucks, vans, dilapidated RV's and shipping containers.

Dean nodded and headed down the fence near an overpass. "Be a good place to hide out and cook up your victim's entrails."

Sam groaned. "Well, now I'm not hungry anymore."

"Suck it up, geek." Dean chuckled and pointed. "There. We can climb that and get over the fence." He jogged over to a stack of crates at the edge of the overpass and climbed quickly up. Dean pulled off his leather jacket and flung it over the single string of barbed wire at the top. "Don't tear my leather goin' over, dude. I will maim you."

Sam laughed and waited for his brother to go over the top of the fence in an agile vault. "Relax." He planted his hands on either side, making sure to fist his hand in the leather as he jumped, rolled and brought the jacket with him. "Here, you big baby."

Dean made a point of studying his jacket critically before pulling it back on. "You're lucky."

"You're a prima donna." Sam grinned and started into the yard, slipping quietly between containers and vehicles. "You see his truck?" he asked softly.

Dean shook his head and stepped ahead of Sam. "Hang on. Gimme a leg up." He put his foot in Sam's hands when his brother bent and offered and reached up to grab the top of a shipping container. Dean rolled up onto the cold metal and stood to survey the crowded yard. He smiled and rolled back over the side to land with a thump beside Sam. "Got him. About thirty yards that way parked next to a little camper. There's a light on inside."

"We could be wrong, you know," Sam cautioned softly as they drew their guns and stalked closer. "Might just be a human. Maybe the guy's just naturally suspicious."

Dean snorted. "Right, and he spends his off time in a midget camper in the ass end of Portland for kicks? Nope. Something's hinkey about this guy. I know it."

Sam rolled his eyes but trusted Dean's instincts. He was rarely wrong about people, at least on a job. He slid up alongside the little battered, white camper. Detective Burkhardt's truck was parked next to it, and Sam heard the sound of low voices inside. He tapped Dean's shoulder, pointed to his ear when Dean looked at him and held up two fingers.

Dean nodded; he'd heard the voices as well. He moved up to the little door in the side and raised a brow at his brother. Sam gave him a shrug to say he didn't have a better idea and moved so he'd have a clear view into the trailer. Dean grabbed the handle and counted to three in his head before he yanked the door open and lunged inside, leading with his gun.

"Whoa! Whoa! Holy crap, don't shoot!" A tall man with a head of curly hair and a beard threw his arms up and staggered back into Nick at a small desk near the rear of the camper. "Friends of yours, Nick? 'Cause I gotta say, I'm not feeling the warm and fuzzies here."

Nick's hand inched to his own gun and stopped with Agent Hendrix's eyes firmly on him. "Agent? What are you…" He saw movement outside the door and his eyes widened as the taller man stepped into view. "…both of you, doing here? How'd you even find me?" Nick looked at his friend and smirked. "Monroe, put your hands down. They're not gonna shoot you."

"Maybe." Dean said quickly and shrugged one shoulder. "Kinda depends on what exactly you know about those murders that you aren't telling us."

"Dean." Sam had been cataloguing the interior of the camper with his eyes and had a feeling that they had definitely jumped wrong. "I think…they're Hunters, like us. Look at this place." Sam stepped up into the camper, ducking to get in the door and knew he was right.

"Oh, crap," Monroe said with feeling and sagged. He moved quickly behind Nick. "You're Hunters?"

"They're federal agents," Nick said and turned to see real fear on his friend's face. "Monroe?"

Monroe shook his head and made sure to keep Nick between him and the two very tall men. "You know how you track down Wesen and, you know, the whole 'Grimm' thing?" He made air quotes with his fingers, and his eyes never left Dean's gun. "They pretty much do what you do but for all the other supernatural crap out there that isn't us…Wesen. The stuff they can actually see as normal humans. Or not see, if it's invisible, I suppose. The point is, they know there's more out there than just people…and they hunt it."

"Whoa. Hang on." Dean lowered his gun an inch, sensing that Sam was right and he'd jumped wrong. At the same time Nick threw a what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about glance over his shoulder at his friend. Dean was pretty sure his own expression was similar. "What the hell's a…a vessin? Sammy?"

"Is that what's been killing people here?" Sam asked. He took a step further into the camper and stopped when he saw Dean's hands tense around his gun. He wisely took a step back with Dean's silent warning that he didn't trust the detective or his friend just yet. "Look, Monroe is it?" Sam smiled when the man behind the detective nodded. "You're right. We're not feds. We came here looking for whatever has been mauling these victims. If you're looking for it too, then maybe we can work together." Sam rolled his eyes when Dean slapped the back of his arm. "What? Dean, we followed a detective and drew our guns on him. You really think he's not gonna check us out after this and find out we're full of crap?"

"Well, he sure as hell knows it now." Dean groaned and lowered his gun. "Awesome. I'm Dean. This idiot masquerading as a genius is my little brother, Sammy."

"It's Sam."

"Moron."

Monroe snorted an uneasy laugh and bumped the back of Nick's shoulder. "How did you talk to these two already today and not peg them for brothers? I mean, it's obvious. Federal agents." He laughed with a shake of his head. "You guys kinda suck at the whole 'we're really not brothers' thing."

"Not helping, Monroe," Nick said with a groan. "Ok. I think maybe we need to start again. Who the hell are you two really?"

Dean blew out a breath and grudgingly put up his gun. He waved a hand at the cluttered interior of the camper - the artifacts, potion bottles, and the books lying open on the desk with hand drawn pictures of creatures on their pages. "Same thing you are, by the looks of it."

"He's a Grimm," Monroe said cheerfully and shrugged with an innocent look when Nick glared at him. "What? You are. No point in pussyfooting around it."

"What's grim?" Sam frowned in confusion. "Why do I get the feeling we're having a language barrier issue here?"

"He didn't say grim. He said 'a grim'." Dean quirked a brow in a tacit request for explanation.

"It's a bloodline. The Grimms have the ability to see Wesen." Monroe scratched his head, trying to find the best way to explain it. "There's a whole…I dunno…subset of, well, of creatures that Hunters more or less don't know anything about." He smirked at the look of disbelief on Dean's and Sam's faces. "You can't see us. You guys have nabbed a few of us over the years, but only in our Woged forms, and you guys are basically clueless. No offense."

"I'm not clueless. Shut up, Sam." Dean glared over at his brother's soft laugh.

Sam rubbed a hand over his face and smiled. "Right. I think maybe you need to give us a crash course in these…Wesen."

An hour later, Sam was leaned over the desk with Nick flipping through the pages of the Grimm diaries and shaking his head in wonder at the sheer number of creatures he'd never even heard of before. "This is…how can Hunters not know about any of this?"

"They look like normal human beings to you, Sam."

Sam shook his head slightly. "Lots of things appear human…until they change. We know about them."

Nick smiled and glanced at Monroe. "Wesen are…a very private society. They keep what they are hidden most of the time. A lot are just normal…folks…living normal lives, not hurting anyone. I only see their real faces when they're scared or, you know, pissed off." He chuckled. "I tend to have that effect on them, when they find out who I am."

"It'd be like if Dracula wandered into your living room, introduced himself, and asked for a drink," Monroe said with a smirk. His smile faded when he realized the other brother, Dean, was still sitting on the other side of the camper and hadn't taken his eyes off him. "Something on my face?"

"I dunno. I'm not a Grimm," Dean said evenly. "So what are you then?"

"Huh?" Monroe backed up a step and tried to look harmless. "I'm just a watchmaker, man. I repair clocks and watches and get dragged into the occasional life-or-death situation by Nick because he has no sense of responsibility for my well-being."

"I do too." Nick laughed, but he was watching Dean now as well. He'd been a cop long enough to sense when someone was dangerous even when they appeared calm and relaxed. He did not sense any bad intent from the man across from him, but he radiated 'dangerous'. "Why do you think he's not human?"

"He slipped up earlier." Dean sat up a little straighter and saw his brother stiffen from the corner of his eye. "He was talking about the Wesen and he said 'like us'." He nodded in Monroe's direction. "So what are you and should I have my gun back out?"

Monroe raised his hands slowly and took a step around the desk closer to Nick. "Look, man. I'm harmless. Just your friendly neighborhood Blutbad."

"Blut…werewolf." Sam pulled one of the Grimm diaries over and flipped through the pages. "I saw that. You're a werewolf?" He raised a hand out to his brother when Dean rose and drew his gun in one fluid motion, aiming it at Monroe, his eyes hardening. "Take it easy, Dean. That doesn't mean the same thing for Wesen that it does for the ones we're used to."

"Monroe's one of the good guys, Dean." Nick fearlessly stepped in front of his friend and could practically feel Monroe vibrating with tension behind him. "I don't know what kind of Blutbad you guys are used to, but…"

"The kind that change during a full moon and kill everything in sight," Dean said simply. "They change and they lose all their humanity."

"Yeah, well. I'm not like that. We aren't like that." Monroe said quickly. "None of that lunar cycle crap. The ones you hunt, they're, like…feral. Poor suckers. Got nothing to do with me."

The tension in the room was palpable. Dean in full-on Hunter mode tended to have that effect, and Sam walked over to his brother and put a hand on his gun, easing it down. "He's not a threat." He smiled at Dean's incredulous look. "It's in the books, Dean. He's safe. And anyway, look at the guy." Sam moved so Dean could see past him. "He's shaking in his sneakers."

"Monroe's a friend and he helps me." Nick sighed in relief when Dean's gun slowly lowered back to his side. "I'm kinda new at this, and half the time I don't know what I'm doing with any of it."

"Half the time?" Monroe said and grinned unrepentantly when Nick turned a quick glare to him. "I'm just saying."

"The only thing he's guilty of is being a pain in the ass." Nick smiled when Dean laughed.

"I sympathize." Dean ran a hand through his hair and put his gun up for the second time that night. He gave Monroe a measuring look and then shrugged. "He bites me, I'm gonna be pissed."

Sam laughed and moved back to the desk and Nick now that the crisis was averted. He couldn't help looking more closely at Monroe, trying to see what he knew now was hidden there, but all he saw was a perfectly normal human. He shook his head and leaned back over the books. "So, Nick. Do you have a likely candidate for the murders?" Sam wanted a month to camp with Nick's books and dig through them, learn everything he could about Wesen. It astounded him that the Hunting community knew next to nothing about them.

"We were narrowing it down when you two…dropped by," Nick said and smiled. He pulled one of the diaries over and opened it, turning pages until he found what he wanted. He pushed it over to Sam. "I think this is our killer. A Rissfleich."

"Rissflish?" Dean snorted. "That doesn't even sound real."

Sam smirked and looked over at him. "Wendigo."

"Point taken." Dean laughed.

"We have those, too." Nick waved at another of the books. "There seems to be a lot of overlap between your…your world and mine. I just never realized yours was…real. Figured all the stories just came from various Wesen encounters over the centuries that some folks survived to describe."

"I wish we had time to compare notes." Sam looked down at the book and the picture of the Rissfleich. "A tiger-like Wesen." He frowned at the book. "Damn, my German's a little rusty."

"It says they attack their prey with a pounce before tearing out their stomachs and feeding on the entrails." Monroe swallowed and sighed. "Very messy eaters."

"I think I know where to find him." Nick leaned back against the shelves and crossed his arms over his chest. "I interviewed a guy yesterday. He was definitely upset about talking to cops and I saw his face…his real face, I mean. He had tiger stripes. I'm learning not to believe in coincidences on this job."

"I hear that." Dean stood and came over to look at the picture. "Ugly bastard. Anything special required to kill a…a Wesen? Need anything chanted in Latin, Sammy's your man."

Nick looked over in surprise. "Does that actually work?"

"Only on some things." Sam said seriously. "Certain spells, rituals, some spirits, demons…dad had me reciting exorcisms in Latin when I was ten."

"Spirits? As in ghosts? No way." Monroe shook his head and then stared at the serious faces of both men. "Seriously?"

"Dude, you have no idea." Dean shook his head. "Don't want to either. So, where do we find the killer kitty?"

Nick looked at him. "No way. You two have no idea what you're up against here. We'll handle it. You guys take a night off and enjoy some of the local night life."

Dean shook his head, "Ain't happenin'. Me and him? We've been hunting things that go bump in the night and can shred you in under 30 seconds since we were kids. How long did you say you've been at this? We go after it together or we go separately. Don't make much difference to me." Dean gave Nick a tight smile. "We'll just follow you…again."

Nick looked at Monroe and got a shrug in response to his silent question of whether the brothers should come along. He sighed. "Alright then. You do what I tell you." He glared when Dean snorted. "I'm not kidding. You may very well know what you're doing, but this is my city and my job. I could just as easily turn you both in as frauds and let you cool your heels in lockup while we take care of this."

"He'll listen," Sam said quickly and stared his brother down. "We both will." He raised a brow at Dean to say they would do what they were told as long as they could and then smiled at Nick again. "Lead the way."

"Bullets should work on a Rissfleich, at least according to this." Nick tapped the Wesen's image on the page. He took out his own sidearm, checked that it was loaded and slid it back into his holster. "Let's get going."

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Monroe watched Dean and Sam as they moved like a silent unit, weapons drawn and flanking him and Nick into the warehouse Nick had led them to. He shook his head and smiled when Dean glanced at him.

"What?" Dean asked softly.

"I think there must be a little Grimm in your family tree somewhere." Monroe gave a wry smile. "You're both kind of scary…like him." He hooked a thumb at Detective Burkhardt.

"I'm not scary," Nick said and rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, you are, but it's part of your charm." Monroe shrugged. "Or something." He opened his mouth to say more and stopped, inhaling deeply. He grabbed Nick's elbow and pulled him to a stop. "He's here. The Rissfleich. I can smell him now."

"You tell where?" Nick watched Monroe's face and frowned when he shook his head. "Ok, spread out, but stay where I can see you."

Dean nodded and gave a flick of his fingers to Sam to take the other side of the warehouse. He gave another nod to Nick and moved off to the far side. The center of the warehouse where the detective and Monroe walked was a mostly empty space. A few loading vehicles were parked here and there in the middle, and it was toward them they walked. The sides of the warehouse were lined with ten-foot shelves packed with crates, and, above them, a network of catwalks crisscrossed the air in a maze.

Sam looked up and kept his eyes on the catwalks. They were the best way the creature would have of catching them unawares. He felt a little off his game, hunting something they'd never even heard of before. He knew Dean felt a little out of his depth as well, though his brother would never admit it. Sam smirked and glanced over to where he could just make out Dean on the other side of the warehouse before he passed behind one of the loaders. Dean would put on a brave face in the face of Death himself, Sam thought.

"You sure you can't tell where he is?" Nick whispered and felt the prickle on the back of his neck that said they were being watched.

"I smell him. It's not a built-in Wesen location detection system," Monroe retorted sarcastically.

Nick grinned over at him. "You worked on that one, didn't you?"

"I can go home, you know." Monroe stifled a laugh and sniffed the air again. "He's close, but this whole place sort of smells like…rotting meat."

"That's comforting," Nick whispered and looked around the warehouse again. He spotted Dean easily enough, but when he turned to his other side, he realized they'd allowed one of the loaders to come between them and Sam. "Sam?"

Dean's head jerked down from the catwalks with the whisper of his brother's name and fear stabbed into his gut when he couldn't see him, his vision blocked by the large piece of machinery in the center of the room. "No." Dean glanced up and around and quickly strode across the open expanse of floor toward Nick and Monroe. His walk became a run when his eyes caught the barest hint of movement in the dark above. "Sam! Look up!" A dark shadow dropped the catwalk. Two shots sounded in the warehouse, deafening him for a moment, and then he was running. "Sammy!"

Nick burst into motion and beat Dean around the machinery in time to watch the Rissfleich stagger away from Sam, who was prone on the floor, and snarl at him. "Back off," Nick warned.

Dean sprinted past Monroe and slid to a stop in surprise. At first, he'd seen a man standing over his brother, but as he watched, the human face contorted and shifted and suddenly he was looking at the snarling visage of a tiger with clawed hands and vicious teeth. He leveled his gun at the creature when it took a step back toward Sam, and Dean saw blood dripping from the Rissfleich's chest where Sam had shot it. "Sam?"

The Wesen roared, seemingly knowing that it was caught and launched himself toward Nick. The detective and Dean both fired into the creature's body, but momentum was carrying him forward. At the last moment, Monroe slammed into the Rissfleich's side with a loud growl and rolled them both away across the floor, leaving Nick to stagger in surprise.

"Holy crap," Dean gasped when Monroe rose from the now dead man's body and he got a look the Blutbad's true face. It was definitely wolf-like with red eyes and fearsome teeth, yet, as Dean watched, Monroe shook himself and the wolf face melted away to be replaced by his human face once more.

"Monroe…thanks." Nick bent to catch his breath and smiled at his friend.

"All part of the service," Monroe said and got to his feet. He looked down at his sweater and groaned, brushing at a blood stain across the front. "I'm sending you my dry cleaning bill."

"Sammy?" Dean dropped to his knees next to his brother and grabbed his head. "Sam."

"Ow," Sam moaned and blinked his eyes open blearily. "That…that hurt."

Dean put a shaking hand over the blood covering his brother's stomach. "How bad?"

"Huh?" Sam raised his head slowly and looked down at himself. "Dude…s'not mine. He just…body slammed me into the concrete. I shot him." Sam let his head roll back into Dean's hand. "D'I get him?"

Nick chuckled and knelt next to the brothers. He patted Sam's leg with a smile. "Yeah, Sam. You got him."

Dean blew out a breath in relief and smiled. "Come on, sasquatch. Up." He pulled until his little brother was sitting up and held on to him when he listed sideways with a soft groan. Dean put a hand to the back of his head and rolled his eyes. "Well, some of the blood's yours, dude." He put his hand around where Sam could see the spots of blood. "Cracked your head but good."

"I'll call an ambulance and…" Nick stopped when Dean shook his head.

"Naw, we got this." Dean looked down at his brother. "Unless you think you need a hospital. Do ya?"

The look on Dean's face said clearly that Sam shouldn't bullshit him and he smirked. "No. I'm ok. Just…got my bell rung. Dean can fix me up."

Dean smiled over at Nick. "Our line of work, hospitals are for dire emergencies only. Occupational hazard." He got to his feet and brought Sam up with him, steadying him when he swayed a little drunkenly. "Good?"

Sam nodded slowly. "Yeah." He looked over at the Rissfleich's body and sighed. "He just looks like a person."

"I'll take care of it," Nick told them. He put his gun away and held a hand out to Dean. "Thanks for the help, guys." He shook Dean's hand and then Sam's. "Do me a favor? Next time you're in my city, let me know so we can compare notes."

"Deal." Sam smiled and held his hand out to Monroe, shaking it warmly. "I'd like to learn more about the Wesen. And Grimms. Always wondered if those brothers were actually Hunters."

Nick chuckled. "Not quite, but close, apparently." He smiled and then reached a hand out, tapping the knot of Dean's tie. "And uh…the whole federal agent thing would look a lot more convincing if you wore an actual tie."

Sam snickered at his brother. "Told you."

"Shut up. Come on, geek." Dean turned him away and pulled him into a walk. "Get you back to the motel so I can stitch that head up before your genius brains leak out."

Sam smiled and did his best to walk in a straight line as they left. "Hey…you still have my copy of Grimm's Fairy Tales in the trunk?"

"Why would I still have that?" Dean rolled his eyes.

Sam looked at his brother's face, saw the slight flush he was clearly trying to hide and began to laugh. "You do. It's still in there. You kept it."

"Shut up."

"Aw, Dean. That's so sweet!"

"Bite me, bitch."

"Jerk."

"I kept it for kindling." Dean pulled Sam's arm over his shoulders when he swayed again. "Gonna start a nice big fire with it."

Sam smiled happily and put a hand to his pounding head. "Nothing but a big softie. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone and ruin your bad ass reputation."

"Seriously. Shuddup before I dump your ass on the side of the road." Dean snarled, but he couldn't stop the smile as they reached the Impala. "Get in before you fall down." He helped Sam in, closed his door and went to the trunk. Dean opened it and reached unerringly for a panel in the back, pulled it up and took out a tattered, dog-eared copy of Grimm's Fairy Tales that Sam had loved as a kid. He held it up and shook his head as he looked at it. "Wesen. Our lives are weird."

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_The End. _

I'm still waiting to receive prompts from these wonderful people. If your name is on the list, please review or PM me with your prompt for your One Shot Reward: Any season, anything. Your wish is my command for your help making the Fourth Edition as fun as the first three. :D

ALittleTwisted2  
AshleyMarie84  
DearHeart  
emebalia  
Faye  
golden starfish  
Holliday1081  
JaniceC678  
Jeanny  
Kailene  
Kazmie  
K Hanna Korossy  
Klutzygirl33  
Marz  
Meliphyre  
missingmikey  
Miuda22  
quillop  
samar  
sammynanci  
shahenaaz08  
SuperVikinggirl  
Visionary  
Xenascully

Only send me a prompt if your name is **ON the list**. This is not an open call for ideas. The people above have earned a one shot of their choice for contributing to the Reader's Special. If you missed your chance...better get in on the fun next time!


	2. Chapter 2 for mb64

**Title:** Reader's Special: Fourth Edition - One Shot Reward Fic Collection

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** A collection of 1 Shot Reward Fics for Prompters of my Reader's Special: Fourth Edition. Features many seasons, hurt/limp/awesome/caring!Sam/Dean/John/Bobby See each chapter for specific info for each 1 shot reward fic.

**Author's Note:** The Reader's Special: Fourth Edition was a smashing success! Prompters of the story were offered a One Shot Reward story of their choice. These are they.

None of the chapters contained in this collection are connected. Each one is a stand-alone one shot per the prompter's request. Thank you to all of you who prompted the Reader's Special! You were fantastic as always!

**Chapter Info:** For mb64 - I would like to request a preseries one-shot please. Teenaged Sam and Dean have a big argument right before Christmas, but then they realize that they were both wrong and that nothing is as important to them as each other. A happy ending is required of course! :D

**A/N: **You got it! We'll go with Sam at 14 and Dean is 18. That should make for some lovely teenaged angry misunderstandings. Lol

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

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Dean took one look at his little brother's face as he walked into the kitchen and knew it was going to be one of those days. The little house they had rented was cold. Minnesota in December sucked as far as Dean was concerned, and the walk Sam had to make from school every day didn't help. He'd already had to warm the frostbite off Sam's fingers and toes three times in the last week and was damn happy school was finally out for the Christmas break. All of that however had done nothing for Sam's mood. Dean had figured there'd be trouble when Dad had packed his bags into his truck and taken off two days before Christmas. He'd made the usual promises to be home in time, but…Dean groaned and went to the coffee maker. Those promises almost never held out.

"Where's the coffee?" Dean asked and picked up the pot that had a bare half-inch of dark liquid in the bottom.

"I drank it," Sam said grumpily from the table. "Make some more if you want it."

"Ok." Dean banged the pot back onto the counter and turned to look at Sam with his arms crossed over his chest. "I get you're pissed at Dad, but is there a reason you're bitin' my head off?"

Sam stood from his chair and grabbed a piece of paper from the table. "Dad called a half hour ago." He balled up the paper and tossed it in Dean's direction. "Have fun killing whatever the hell it is this time."

Dean watched his brother stalk out of the kitchen and opened the paper, smoothing the wrinkles until he could read an address. "Son of a bitch," Dean groaned. He went and picked up the phone, dialing his Dad's number and wasn't surprised when it was answered on the first ring. "Dad."

"Dean. I need you out here. Pack up and get moving." John Winchester said tersely and shoved more snow off the windshield of his truck. "Better hurry before the Impala gets snowed in there."

"Dad." Dean put a hand over his face for a moment and tried to find patience. "Do you even KNOW what day it is tomorrow?"

"Wednesday. Why?" John frowned and looked out at the snow-covered landscape.

"Dad! It's friggin' Christmas!" Dean said incredulously.

"Right. I knew that." John shook his head and rubbed his sleeve under his nose. The cold was starting to make his face burn. "Look. You get out here and back me up, and we'll be back by morning."

"What about Sam?" Dean asked and heard the rebellious tone in his own voice.

"He's fourteen, Dean. Sam can amuse himself for one night on his own. Just make sure the house is locked up tight and protected."

"Dad!" Dean leaned back against the kitchen wall with a thump and glared at the floor. "You know he's already pissed, and I'm not gonna ditch him on Christmas Eve!"

"He's not a kid anymore, Dean, and neither are you! People are dying out here!" John's patience hit its end and he climbed into his truck, grateful for the warmth from the heater. "Move your ass. The sooner we finish this, the sooner we get back."

Dean stared at the phone when his father hung up and slammed it back into the cradle. He looked in the direction Sam had gone and closed his eyes. "Dammit." Part of him, the part that had felt responsible for Sam since he was four years old, balked at the idea of leaving him alone on Christmas Eve, but he knew he couldn't disobey his father. People were dying and his father was right; they had a job to do, and the monsters didn't take a day off just because it was a holiday. He took a deep breath and walked down the hall to the bedroom he shared with his brother. Dean found Sam where he expected to, sitting on his bed in the corner, knees up, arms around them and waiting for him with a glare in place.

"Sammy."

"Just go on," Sam said angrily. "Go be a good little soldier."

Dean's own anger rose to the occasion because his little brother knew exactly what buttons to push and wasn't above using every one of them when he was hurt or pissed off. "Dammit, Sam. You don't understand."

"Yeah, I do. Hunting means more to you and Dad than anything else." Sam sniffed and looked away. "More than me."

"That's bullshit and you know it!" Dean's voice rose and he stalked to his bed, pulling his duffel bag out from under it. "We save people, Sam. That's what we do, and people are gettin' killed right now. What are we supposed to do?"

"Let someone else do it for once!" Sam shouted and threw his pillow at his big brother's back. "We're not the only hunters in the world! Why can't we have just one Christmas that's…that's normal!"

"And what about the people who aren't gonna get one, huh?" Dean shoved some clothes, his favorite knife, and his gun into the bag and zipped it closed before he turned around to look at his brother with a glare. "You wanna tell 'em they get to die so Sammy can have a few presents? You wanna tell their family that their husband, father, mother, brother, whatever, is never gonna be there for Christmas again?" Sam's jaw fell open in shock and Dean regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, but, dammit, there were times he understood their father's frustration with him. "This ain't a game, Sammy. I'm gonna go help dad and we'll be back tomorrow."

"Bullshit."

"Watch your mouth!" Dean yelled and grabbed his bag. "You stay in the house. Keep the doors locked. There's…"

"A gun in the kitchen. Yeah, I know." Sam got off his bed and stomped past Dean, knocking his elbow as he went. "Don't give a damn about presents, Dean."

Dean flinched when Sam went into the bathroom and slammed the door hard enough to sift dust from the ceiling above. He shook his head and stalked into the hall. "You're a pain in the ass sometimes, Sam! You know that?" He waited for an angry response, and when all he received was the thump of a bad-tempered kick to do the door, Dean turned and left. "We will be back for Christmas, dammit." Dean growled and left the house, pulling the door shut and locking it behind him. He ducked his head against the blowing snow and was too angry to bother cleaning off the windshield as he got in the Impala. He let the wipers do the work and hoped his brother would cool the hell off before they got back. Otherwise Christmas was just going to be long argument between him and his dad. "Awesome."

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John Winchester glanced back at his eldest son and saw the same dark, brooding look on his face that had been there all night. "Knock it off, Dean."

"Not doin' nothin'," Dean said sullenly and kicked through another snow drift. He was cold, he was tired, and it was Christmas Day. They'd spent the night tracking the werewolf through the frozen woods and had finally killed the thing in a hail of silver bullets only an hour before dawn.

"Soon as we reach the cars, we'll grab the salt and gasoline. Head back in and take care of the body." John ducked under a low hanging branch and heard a grumble from behind him. "What was that?"

"That's gonna take hours." Dean made himself speak up. "It'll be night before we get back."

John looked up at the lightening sky and the heavy clouds there with a frown. "Probably tomorrow or the next day from the looks of those. It's gonna start dumping snow again any time now. Come on. We're almost there."

Dean picked up the pace, following his father and had made up his mind by the time the dark bulks of his dad's truck and the Impala came into view. "You can take care of the body. I'm heading back now." He started toward his car and wasn't really surprised when Dad grabbed his arm and spun him around.

"Job's not done yet, son," John said angrily. "Sam will be fine for a day or two more."

"You know what, Dad?" Dean jerked his arm free. "We're his family, not his platoon! He's allowed to want us around for a damn holiday once in a while! Especially Christmas! He's fourteen-years-old and he's allowed to want normal, and I think it'd be nice if maybe you let him sometimes."

John watched his eldest stomp toward his car and couldn't decide whether to let the anger or the shock overcome him. "Dean…"

"It's Christmas, Dad! I'm goin' back to Sammy." Dean pulled open the driver's side door and looked back at their father. "You come back for Christmas if you think you can fit us in." He pulled door closed on his father's angry voice and started the car, grateful that, even after a night in the cold, the engine rumbled to life on the first try. He pulled away from the forest and back onto the snow-covered road, leaving his father standing there watching.

Ten miles later down the road, Dean started to shake with the repercussions of what he'd done. It wasn't often he stood up to his dad like that, and he hated having to do it, but…it was the right thing to do. He never should have left Sam alone on Christmas and he damn well knew it.

"Shit, I'm an ass," Dean said softly to himself as he drove. He jumped when his cell phone suddenly buzzed in his pocket and he dug it out, keeping one hand firmly gripped on the wheel. The roads were crap. They'd lost cell service in the forest and it was a relief to know it was back now. He flipped his phone open and was surprised to see a voicemail from Sam's number. He hit dial and put the phone to his ear.

"_Hey, uh…Dean." Sam's voice sounded soft and a little miserable. "I'm sorry. I hope you guys are ok right now, and, uh…it's Christmas, you know? Even if you're not…if you're not here, you and Dad, we shouldn't fight. I don't wanna fight, Dean. I just…we're cool, right? I was being pig-headed. I know it. I'm sorry. I just…__M__erry Christmas, Dean, and you know, tell dad too. That's…that's all. Merry Christmas, jerk. See you when you get home."_

Dean lowered the phone and sniffed with emotion. "Bitch," he said fondly and hit the button to dial his brother and let him know that he'd be home in a couple hours. The first, fat snowflakes began to fall as the line rang and Dean frowned when Sam didn't pick up. "Come on, dude. Answer the phone." He checked his watch and realized it was five in the morning, but still…Sam always answered. He knew his little brother suffered when he was alone, always afraid that they wouldn't come back, that some horror would kill them and leave him alone forever. Sam never ignored the phone.

"Sammy, pick up, dammit!" Dean snapped his phone closed and pressed harder on the gas. A bad feeling sank into his stomach and he suddenly hated himself a little for leaving his brother with the last things he said to him having been in anger. He drove through the now driving snow and tried not to listen to the voice at the back of his mind that said something was wrong.

The snow fell heavier and what little was left visible of the blacktop vanished under a blanket of white as Dean drove. The sun slipped over the horizon and gave a cold glow to the world as the Impala sped into the sleepy little, Minnesota town. There were few cars on the road. The snowfall was quickly becoming a blizzard, and on Christmas Day, there seemed to be few people daring enough to brave it. Dean had called his father an hour before to tell him that Sam wasn't answering, but had been forced to leave a voicemail. His dad must still have been in the forest and out of cell range.

Dean fought the wheel as he turned the corner onto their street and the back end of the Impala slid out through the snow. "Shit. Shit!" He cursed and managed to regain control of the car and stop just short of sliding into a row of mailboxes. He shook his head and straightened out, driving down the middle of the street. Finally, the little house appeared out of the blowing snow, and Dean turned into the drive feeling a small measure of relief that he was finally home. He climbed out of the Impala, brushing flakes of snow from his eyes as he jogged to the front porch through the drifts, and he stopped, staring in disbelief at the sight that greeted him. The front door of the little house stood open and yellow crime-scene tape fluttered in the stiff wind, dangling like streamers as it was blown about.

Dean shook his head in denial and forced himself to move. "Sam," he whispered his brother's name and climbed the steps, slipping on ice beneath the snow. He ducked under the yellow tape and stepped inside. It was cold like a meat locker and frighteningly silent. "Sammy?" Dean called and reached out, flicking on the light in the hall. It glowed to life and Dean looked into the living room.

A small pine tree lay on its side on the floor. Dean frowned and realized it was the little tree from the front yard. Sam must have gone out and cut the stupid thing down to bring it in. He smiled a little seeing the nest of Christmas tree lights still plugged in and glowing cheerfully in the corner but the smile faded. The rest of the room was a disaster. The chair was overturned, the ratty couch pushed diagonal against the wall, and the lamp had been overturned, leaving broken glass to glitter in the dirty brown carpet.

Dean stepped back into the hall and saw more disarray. The picture of someone else's family that had been left hanging on the wall when they moved in was hanging at an angle, and the little table next to the kitchen door had been smashed under someone's weight. Dean walked stiffly down the hall and turned on the kitchen light as he stepped inside. The spit dried in his mouth as his heart thundered up into his throat. Blood spattered the floor of the kitchen and up the white refrigerator. The drawer where he'd left the gun for Sam was yanked out and on the floor and lying beside a small pool of blood.

"Oh, God," Dean breathed. He jerked into motion and ran down the hall to the bedrooms, still vainly hoping to find his little brother. "Sammy!" He slammed open the door to their room, but it was empty. Dean ran back out into the hall, and for a moment, he had no idea what to do. He shook himself and pushed the fear back. Dean ran back to the kitchen and grabbed the phone off the wall with shaking hands and dialed the emergency number. He had to swallow once, hard when the operator answered.

"I need help. I just got home and there's…there's blood everywhere, and my little brother…he's not here. He's missing, and there's crime scene tape on my front door. Where is he? What happened?" Dean reined in the panic that threatened to overwhelm and managed to give the operator the address.

"Sir, there was a break in at that address last night and reports of shots fired." The operator kept her voice calm. She could hear the ragged breathing of a terrified man on the other end of the line. "No fatalities. Two people were taken to New Ulm Medical Center, one of them was a teenage boy."

"Sam. That's Sam. He's alive right?" Dean asked and brushed angrily at the tear that rolled down his face. "He's alive."

"Sir, I can only tell you what I know from the call log last night." She said sadly. "He and another man were removed from the home alive at time of transport."

Dean took what hope he could from that. "Where is it? New Ulm?" He listened to her calm voice, making a mental note of the directions. "Thanks." He didn't hear anything else she said, hanging the phone up with a bang as he ran from the house. Dean threw himself back into the Impala, heedless of the near white-out that was quickly blanketing the little city and pulled out his phone, calling his father and hearing his voicemail pick up again.

"Dad. Sam's hurt. Someone broke into the house last night and he was taken to New Ulm Medical Center." Dean had to slap his hand with the phone back to the wheel when the Impala fishtailed again. "Shit. Sorry. He was alive last night. I don't….we never should have left him. I shouldn't have left him. God, Dad. There was so much blood…hurry up and get the hell back here." Dean snapped the phone closed and shoved it back into his pocket, putting all his attention back on the road, what little of it he could still see, as he drove. "What happened to you, Sammy?"

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…_the night before…_

Sam hung up the phone in the kitchen and hoped his voicemail would be enough to fix things with his big brother. He leaned on the wall for a moment and looked at the empty coffee pot. Sam grimaced at himself and how childish he'd been about it. It wasn't Dean's fault. He knew that.

"God, I'm stupid sometimes." Sam walked into the living room and looked around the sparsely furnished room. He ran his hands through his shaggy hair and smiled. "I can fix this." He went back down the hall and pulled open the cellar door. Sam turned on the light and ducked as he went down the narrow stairs. He'd been digging about in the cellar the week before with nothing better to do on a snow day and had turned up a little box, hidden back in the corner. Sam pulled it out and grinned as he opened it, revealing the long lost strings of Christmas lights hidden inside. He took them back upstairs and upended them on the living room floor.

Sam sat next to the wall, folding his awkward, gangly legs under him and set to work untangling the strings. He tugged on the leg of his jeans, trying to pull them down over his cold ankles but they were too short. He rolled his eyes. He was growing faster than his clothes could keep up, something which Dean took much pleasure in teasing him about lately, but Sam was secretly beginning to think he'd end up taller than his big brother. That thought made him smile. Dean wouldn't be able to call him squirt and short-round anymore.

He spent a half an hour untangling the three strings and left them coiled carefully in a pile, plugged in and blinking cheerfully. Sam smiled and stood. He looked around the living room and sighed. "Now, what am I going to put you on?" He looked out the front window and a smile crept across his face. He jogged back into the kitchen and rummaged through the space under the sink, grinning when he came out with a little hand-axe.

Sam grabbed his coat off the back of the couch and went out onto the porch into the deepening night. The sun had long gone down and it was truly dark outside with the thick cloud cover above. The only light came from the glow of the street lights on the snow, and Sam waded through the two feet of snow in the front yard to the little baby pine tree in the middle. "Dad's gonna kick my ass," he muttered with a soft laugh and knelt in the snow. He dug out the base of the tree, spared a glance around for the other houses, and hoped no one was watching.

Sam's fingers were frozen and turning blue by the time he had the little tree tucked under one arm. He ran back up onto the porch and fumbled the door open. Sam caught hold of the snow- covered tree with both hands as it slipped from under his arm and nudged the door open with a hip. He carried the tree into the living room and set it down in the empty corner by the window.

"Brrr." Sam put his fingers in his mouth, trying to warm them. "Holy crap, s'cold." He heard the crunch of a snowy boot out on the porch and froze, realizing he'd left the front door wide open. He turned, lowering his hands and got three steps toward the door when a strange man appeared in the hall. Sam froze in fear.

"Hey, kid. You all alone here?"

Sam shook his head and backed up a step as a second man appeared behind the first. They both wore beat-up, heavy winter coats and shoved their hoods back to reveal stringy hair and dirt-grimed faces. "M-my brother…he's gonna be back soon."

The taller of the two men snorted and lunged forward suddenly to grab one of Sam's arms. "Think you're full o' shit, kid. See, I think…" He jerked Sam into him, smiling when the boy yelped in pain. "…you're all alone in here for Christmas and ain't that a shame?"

"Prob'ly got some shit you don't need, huh?" The second man chuckled and walked into the living room to look around. "Presents? Money maybe? Come on, kid. Where's the goods?"

"Noth…nothing. There's nothing." Sam planted his feet on the floor and tried to stay calm, readying himself. "I've got…like, ten bucks. You can have it. Just go."

"Ten bucks? Horse crap." The man holding Sam twisted his arm again. "Gotta have more than that. Give it up and we won't even break you before we leave. It's cold out there. Gotta have something to stay warm with."

Sam shook his head, swallowed hard and burst into action. He kicked the leg of the man holding him and spun, delivering another kick to the chest of the other man that sent him tumbling backward into the couch with a crash.

"No, you don't!" The first man made another grab for Sam and tackled him, sending them both slamming into the lamp next to the door. The glass shade and bulb exploded under their weight and Sam rolled free of him, punching the side of the stubbled jaw. He scrambled to his feet and didn't even notice the glass embedded in his palms or the side of his face. His only thought was to get to the kitchen…to the gun.

"Get back here, you little bastard!"

Sam gasped for breath and looked behind him. He ducked away from another tackle by the man who'd grabbed his arm, letting him slam into the little table by the door. It collapsed under his weight, and Sam stumbled into the kitchen. He ran to the counter and yanked open the drawer by the phone. The drawer dropped to the floor and Sam knelt, pulling the heavy forty-five out of the pile of papers. Sam turned, sitting on the floor and raised the gun as the taller man came into the kitchen.

"STOP!" Sam screamed and aimed the gun at his chest. "Get out! Get out or I'll shoot!"

The man snarled, brushing broken glass from his chin and stalked closer to Sam. "Ain't loaded is it, you little shit." He jerked back in surprise when the gun fired, the sound filling the little kitchen and he felt something red-hot slam into his left shoulder.

Sam watched the man spin and fall with a cry and lowered the gun to keep him in his sights while he writhed and shouted on the floor. "Is too loaded," Sam whispered in a shaking voice. He got to his feet and took a step closer to the door. Sam gasped when the second intruder lurched into sight. He fired at the same moment he saw a gun in the other man's hand. He heard the sound of two shots fired almost simultaneously and fell backward with pain tearing through his stomach. Sam leaned against the counter and somehow managed to keep his gun up, leveled at the door. The second man had vanished around the corner and Sam waited.

"I'm gonna kill you, you little fucker!" The man shouted from the hall and Sam heard the hammer of a gun cock back.

Sam sobbed in a breath, uncaring of the tears that flowed down his cheeks and kept the gun steady. "D-Dean," Sam choked his brother's name out like a plea. In the distance, he suddenly heard the sound of sirens growing nearer and realized one of the neighbors must have heard the shots and called the police. "They're coming! C-cops are c-coming!" He heard an angry curse from the hall, and then the sound of the man's footsteps pounding through the house and out the door, away.

Sam let the gun lower into his lap slowly and couldn't get control of his hitching breaths. He looked up at the phone but it was just too far away. He looked down at his stomach and his eyes widened in horror as he saw the blood spreading across his shirt and leaking onto the cracked linoleum. He let his head drop back to the cabinet, and the world slowly started to darken around him with the sirens loud, sounding like they were outside. He heard voices yelling, but none of them belonged to his brother or his dad and Sam closed his eyes, unable to stop the darkness from taking him, his last thought a heartfelt prayer of gratitude that he had at least had time to leave that last message for his brother. At least his last words to him would not have been the angry words he'd hurled at Dean when he left.

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Dean ran into the emergency room in a swirl of snow and slid to a stop at the desk. "Sam Winchester. He was brought in last night. Where the hell is he?"

"Calm down, sir." The young man in green scrubs raised a hand and turned to a computer. "Do you know what time he came in?"

Dean shook his head. "No. No, I…I think he was shot." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "He's just a kid. He's fourteen and he's my little brother and I need to see him right the hell now."

"Just hang on." The nurse pulled up the files from the night before and frowned. "I don't have that name listed, but I do have a teenage John Doe brought in. Gunshot wound, and it appears he wasn't conscious to give them a name when he came in."

"Oh, God," Dean groaned and leaned on the desk, suddenly dizzy. "How bad? Is he…he's alright, isn't he?"

The nurse stood and took Dean's arm, pulling him aside. "Here, sit. You need to sit." He pushed Dean down into a chair and looked around, catching the eye of a pretty, blonde nurse. "Lizzy, go find Doctor Adams. Tell him I've got his patient's brother out here."

"That boy in fourteen?" Lizzy asked in surprise and nodded. "I'll be right back!"

"He's alive. Sam's his name, you said? I'm Tyler." Tyler smiled gently at Dean's face. The guy, and he wasn't much older than his brother, he thought, was clearly in shock. "I'll let his doctor explain everything, but he's alive, alright? So just take a breath and try to calm down a little."

"I need to see him," Dean insisted.

"You will. Just wait for the doctor." Tyler sat next to the young man and put an arm over his shoulders. "What's your name?"

"Uh, Dean." Dean dropped his face into his hands miserably. "Why the hell did I leave him alone?"

"You couldn't have known." Tyler reassured him. "The police were here last night. They said two men broke into the house and…attacked him, but Sam put up a hell of a fight. He, uh…he shot one of them. The guy's alive. The cops caught the other one trying to run."

"Tyler?"

"Doctor Adams." Tyler smiled and stood. "This is Dean Winchester. Your patient is his little brother, Sam."

Dean shot to his feet and barely resisted the urge to grab hold of the doctor's white coat and demand answers. "I need to see my little brother. Right. Now."

Doctor Adams smiled, not concerned at the contained fury he could see radiating off the young man in front of him. "Of course. Come with me. Thank you, Tyler."

"It's gonna be fine, Dean. You'll see." Tyler patted Dean's shoulder and watched him go with a sigh.

"How bad's he hurt?" Dean asked as they walked.

"It was bad, Dean. I won't lie to you." Doctor Adams reached out and put a hand on Dean's shoulder to steer him around a medical cart. "Sam was shot in the stomach." He steadied the older brother when he staggered. "It was a small caliber, and it missed everything vital for the most part. I was able to safely remove the bullet and repair the small tear in Sam's kidney."

"His kidney?" Dean felt himself growing faint and shook his head to clear it.

"It's alright. He lost a lot of blood and we were worried for a bit, but he's doing much better this morning." The doctor nodded to himself and to Dean, turning him down yet another hall. "His vitals are right where I'd like them to be, and I'm hoping you can persuade him to wake up for us."

"He'll wake up for me," Dean said surely. He stopped when the doctor did and went through the door the man motioned him too.

"Now, all the tubes and wires are going to look a bit scary, but I promise you, he really is out of the woods." Doctor Adams followed Dean into the room and wasn't surprised when the elder brother staggered to a stop around the curtain to stare. Sam lay partially raised in the bed. One side of his face was littered with small wounds, and a dark bruise ran from just below his eye to his chin. Both of his hands were wrapped in gauze, his left arm was in a sling, and there was the clear outline of a heavy bandage over his stomach, under the sheet.

"What…" Dean waved a hand at his brother in confusion. "What'd they do to him?"

The doctor sighed deeply. "The officers who responded to the call said it looked as though Sam had taken a bit of a beating before reaching the gun he used on one of his attackers." He walked around to the bed and patted Sam's foot under the sheet. "His left elbow's very badly sprained, but it'll be fine. He should regain full range of motion with a little physical therapy." He watched Dean come forward slowly and stepped back. "I'll just give you a bit of time alone." As he was leaving, the doctor glanced back over his shoulder. "For what it's worth, from what the cops say, he didn't go down quietly. He apparently put up quite a fight."

Dean nodded mutely, feeling numb, and moved to the bed. He reached a hand out and wished Sam's weren't bandaged. There was barely an inch on the kid he could touch that wasn't injured. "Oh, God, Sammy. I'm so sorry." Dean carefully lowered the rail on the side of the bed and sat next to his brother's hip, careful not to jar him. He put a hand up and into Sam's shaggy, dark hair, carding his fingers back a few times.

"Sammy?" Dean called softly. He curved his other hand around Sam's jaw and gave a watery smile. "Sam. It's…it's Christmas, dude. You gotta wake up." He coughed and swallowed. "Can't believe you cut down that pathetic little tree in the front yard. Wake up, Sam. Come on." Dean leaned back and then froze as he saw Sam's eyes begin to move under his lids. "Sammy? That's it, buddy. Come on. Sam." Dean took his brother's face again, careful of the wounds, and waited. It took several minutes but Dean's patience was rewarded when Sam opened his eyes and looked up at him with glazed, blue-green eyes.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was a coarse whisper.

Dean had never heard anything better. He nodded and grinned, blinking away the suspicious moisture in his eyes that threatened to spill down his face. "Alright, little brother?"

Sam frowned, looking around the room in confusion and then his eyes went wide in remembered terror. He would have shot up in the bed if Dean hadn't pressed a hand into his shoulder to stop him.

"Whoa! Don't do that!" Dean held Sam down as gently as he could and waited for Sam's panicked gaze to come back to him. "You're alright! You're in the hospital. It's ok. You're ok. They're gone, and I'm back."

Sam's breathing slowed grudgingly from near hyperventilating to something approaching normal and he nodded once. "Hospital." He looked back up at his brother and then the pain hit him. He groaned and tried to curl around himself, but again, Dean was there to stop him.

"Take it easy. You're pretty banged up, dude," Dean said and put his hand back into Sam's hair, offering him the comfort that always seemed to soothe him when he had nightmares. "You remember what happened?"

Sam nodded and tried to breath around the burning pain in his gut. "I, uh…there were…there were two of them. They…they followed me into the h-house, and…and…"

"Ok. It's ok. Forget about it. Tell me later." Dean squeezed Sam's shoulder while his brother's breathing hitched and tried to calm him down. He looked at Sam miserably then and sighed. "Sam, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left. It's friggin' Christmas, dude. It was a dick thing to do, even for a job."

Sam gave a ghost of a smile and raised a hand to Dean's shoulder, frowning when he saw his hands were bandaged. "It's ok. You're kind of a dick." He managed a weak grin when Dean chuckled. "But…what happened to my hands?"

Dean shook his head. "Dunno. We'll ask the doc when he comes back. Or you'll remember." He shrugged and smiled again. "Don't worry about it." He started to ease off the bed to sit in the chair and rolled his eyes fondly when Sam caught his arm with a bandaged hand. "I'm not goin' anywhere, dude." He sat back down and plucked Sam's hand off him. "Knock it off before you hurt yourself."

Sam sighed in relief and rolled slowly and carefully onto his side until his head was resting against Dean's knee. Normally, he'd kick himself for acting like such a child, but he was still shaken…still terrified, really, and it was Christmas. He needed his big brother. "Where's Dad?"

"On his way," Dean said easily and believed that with all his heart. He expected his phone to ring at any moment with panicked questions from their father. "He'll be here." Dean decided to give their dad a present while he was at it. "He sent me back ahead so you wouldn't be alone while he took care of the body." Dean smiled at Sam's surprised face. "What? It's Christmas. Dad wasn't just gonna leave you all alone today."

Sam smiled and relaxed into the bed again, grateful when his brother stayed right where he was. "Was so scared, Dean. I thought – there was so much blood."

Dean could see the tears Sam was fighting to hold back and knew what he had thought. "I know, buddy. I know." Dean put a hand back in his little brother's hair and rubbed Sam's back with the other. He was still shaken from what he'd seen in the house. "Me too." The idea that Sam spent his Christmas Eve lying in a pool of his own blood thinking he was going to die alone tore at Dean's heart and he had to fight to not pull his brother into his arms and just hold onto him.

"Dean?" Sam rolled his head slightly to look up at him feeling a tremble run through Dean's hands. "Merry Christmas."

Dean smiled down at him with an expression of affection that Sam knew no one else ever got to see. "Merry Christmas, little brother," he said warmly and knew he had the only gift he wanted for Christmas right there, in a hospital bed, drooling into his knee.

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_The End._

Next chapter: For Leahelisabeth


	3. Chapter 3 for Leahelisabeth

**Title:** Reader's Special: Fourth Edition - One Shot Reward Fic Collection

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** A collection of 1 Shot Reward Fics for Prompters of my Reader's Special: Fourth Edition. Features many seasons, hurt/limp/awesome/caring!Sam/Dean/John/Bobby See each chapter for specific info for each 1 shot reward fic.

**Author's Note:** The Reader's Special: Fourth Edition was a smashing success! Prompters of the story were offered a One Shot Reward story of their choice. These are they. None of the chapters contained in this collection are connected. Each one is a stand-alone one shot per the Prompters request. Thank you to all of you who prompted the Reader's Special! You were fantastic as always!

**Chapter Info:** For Leahelisabeth - it's Christmas in season 2. Sam has been poisoned by a supernatural poison that leaves him in agony but unable to pass out. Dean can't stop it unless he kills the monster so he has to leave Sam behind in the motel room and go kill it. Sam is in a bad head space and thinks that Dean gave up on trying to save him and has left him to die alone. And, of course, Dean has to save Christmas at the end. :) And just go nuts! Add in whatever other hurty comforty details your little heart desires! :D

**A/N: **We'll set this one after 2x14 'Born Under a Bad Sign'. Good place to have Sam still mired in guilt from shooting his brother and murdering Wandell while under Meg's control. Just what the lady ordered. :P Enjoy!

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

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"Dean." Sam's voice was a shameless plea for comfort from the backseat and Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

"I know, buddy. Just keep breathing, ok? We're almost there." Dean pressed a little harder on the gas in spite of the torrential downpour threatening to wipe out the roads. His little brother gave another strangled, muffled cry, and he swallowed hard around the lump of guilt in his throat. It was going to be a long time before he forgave himself for putting Sam in harm's way the way he had tonight. That moment was going to be on instant replay in his mind for many nights to come.

Uncharacteristically, he hadn't even balked when Sam had volunteered to stride into the clearing to draw out their prey, and Dean scowled, wondering what twisted excuse for a deity would come up with a creature like a nautilous. The damn thing belonged in a lake somewhere, not walking around on two legs in a forest tearing unsuspecting hikers limb from limb. Dean rubbed his left shoulder to soothe the ache that still had hold. It was why he'd let Sam take point. He was still healing from the bullet the demon Meg, via his brother's body, had put in him. He wished now he'd listened to Bobby when the older Hunter had told them to give it another week before going back on the job.

The nautilous looked like it had been cobbled together from a man and a crustacean. A hard, outer shell covered the thing's upper body, flowing along its torso and arms and curving out over where its human head should have been. The thing had what looked like something a snail had coughed up and combined with an octopus before shoving it inside the shell. Whip-thin tentacles waved out of the shell while beady, black eyes twitched on short stalks beneath them. As if that wasn't bad enough, the tentacles were barbed and they'd found out the hard way…poisoned.

Sam had taken one look at Dean rubbing his left shoulder and his face had fallen in that way that said he was slapping at himself yet again for what the demon had done. Dean had wanted to kick him for it until he stopped but there was no point. Sam would let it go when he was damn good and ready, so he'd caved. Dean had allowed his brother to take point after being angrily informed that he wasn't a hundred percent and, oh, how he wished he'd sucked it up now and told Sam to screw off.

The nautilous had roared out of the trees the moment Sam reached the center of the clearing and dove for him like he had a steak around his neck. Dean hadn't even been able to take a shot at the thing before it had Sam wrapped up and rolling on the ground. He'd run for them, calling his brother's name and seen the nautilous' tentacles latch onto and around his brother's shoulder and neck. Sam had screamed, a sound Dean was unaccustomed to hearing out of his little brother's mouth. The sound tore at his heart and it had urged him on with the overwhelming need to rip apart, with his bare hands if necessary, the thing that was causing Sam that kind of pain. He'd delivered a crippling kick to the nautilous' belly, sending it rolling away. and he'd turned its face - or where its face should have been - into a pulp with his gun. Or he'd thought he had, but the creature, despite his efforts, had staggered to its feet and run back into the forest and he'd let it, his entire attention focused on his little brother lying on the ground, gasping in pain, blood staining through his shirts.

Dean glanced up now and looked in the rearview mirror and hated himself anew. Sam was propped in the backseat, shirtless and Dean had no choice but to look at the array of bleeding marks that peppered his right shoulder and neck. Some Christmas this was going to be, he thought miserably. "Sammy?" he called and gave a little nod of reassurance when Sam rolled his eyes to meet his in the mirror.

"Hu…hurts, Dean," Sam managed between gasped breaths and closed his eyes again.

"I know, buddy. We're almost there and I'll get you taken care of."

Sam nodded and put all his effort into not screaming again. Agony was tearing through him like knives through flesh and stealing even his ability to breathe sometimes with the strength of it. The worst part for him was…he couldn't pass out. More than once since Dean had picked him up and half-carried him back to the car, darkness had threatened, eating away at the edges of his vision, but each time, something chased it away and left him crying out and wishing for the peace of unconsciousness. It had to be whatever poison the nautilous had left in his wounds when it attacked him, and Sam hoped getting rid of it would be easier than surviving its effects.

Dean turned into their motel and parked, grateful they had the room on the end and their nearest neighbor was half the length of the building away. Odds were that getting Sam cleaned up was not going to be a quiet process. He went to the trunk first, pulling out the first aid kit and took that into their room then ran back to the car.

"Ok, Sammy. We're here. Let's get you up, huh?" Dean reached in and slid his hands under Sam's good shoulder. "Come on." He pulled gently until he had Sam sitting on the edge of the seat and then slowly levered him up, wrapping both arms around his waist. "Lean on me. Here we go. Few more feet." Dean kicked the door closed and got Sam moving in an unsteady walk into the motel room. He sat him on the far bed and pulled the first aid kit over.

"Dean," Sam said and hunched over himself. He'd have curled forward onto the floor if not for his brother's warm hand on his shoulder, keeping him upright. "S'bad. Make…make it s-stop."

"I'm gonna, ok? Just lay back." Dean took out the holy water and sat next to his brother. Sam's whole body trembled with pain and the effort to not give in and scream but he was losing. Dean could tell; he could see it on Sam's face in the ever-deepening pain lines around his eyes. "This should do the trick, but..." He trailed off dreading the idea of causing his brother even more pain on top of what he was already going through.

Sam nodded tightly, knowing what was coming, and closed his eyes, turning his head away so Dean could have clear access to all the wounds. He tried to brace himself but still he jumped at the first touch of cool water on his over-heated skin. Sam waited for the inevitable rush of the familiar burning pain of holy water but it never came. He blinked his eyes open as another wave of agony rushed through him. "It's not…no reaction?"

"Son of a bitch," Dean groaned and set the holy water down. He ran a hand through his hair and then pulled out the antiseptic and some gauze. "Ok. I'm gonna clean these up and call Bobby." He dug his phone out of his pocket, dialed Bobby and propped it on his shoulder so he could have both hands free to work. Sam was curling in around himself while Dean cleaned each wound, and he had to keep pushing him flat again. "Bobby. Hey, we got a problem."

"What kinda problem?" Bobby set the spoon back in his chili and frowned. "Should'a been fairly easy killin' that thing." His eyes blew wide when he heard a sound that could only be Sam screaming.

"That's the problem. Take it easy, Sam. Easy!" Dean finished cleaning the wounds and put a hand on Sam's neck to try and anchor him while he sobbed for breath. "The creature got its…its tentacles into him. There was some kind of poison and I think it's killin' him, Bobby."

"Alright, calm down," Bobby said, though he knew there was zero chance of that happening when it came to Sam being in pain. "The poison will wear off in an hour or so now the nautilous is dead."

Dean's jaw fell open and he stood, taking hold of the phone as he moved away from the bed so Sam wouldn't hear. "What about if it's not dead?"

"What do you mean if it's not?" Bobby rolled his eyes to the ceiling and blew out a breath. "There's no antidote for that poison, son, 'cept for killin' the thing. Once it's dead, the poison dies with it. You need to kill that thing and fast."

"Is it lethal?" Dean asked and grimaced when Sam's voice rose in agony again and his little brother curled in a ball on the bed with his arms wrapped around his chest, like he was trying to hold himself together. "Bobby, is it gonna kill him?"

"No. Not right away at least." Bobby scrubbed a hand over his face and wished he wasn't a day away from his boys as Sam's pain-filled voice carried through the phone again. "The poison'll keep him conscious and it…incapacitates its victims. Takes a day or two before it kills though. You've got time, Dean."

"Dammit." Dean dropped his head and nodded. "Ok. Alright, I…thanks, Bobby." He hung up the phone, rather than answer any more questions. He needed to help Sam. Dean went and sat next to his brother again and put a hand to his shoulder. "Sammy. I've gotta go back out after this bitch."

Sam grabbed hold of Dean's wrist and held tight as he shook his head. "N-no. Dean…please."

"No choice, Sam. The only way to stop the poison is to kill it." Dean put on a smile for his brother and pried Sam's fingers loose. "Won't take me long alright? You just gotta hang on 'til I'm done. You can do that."

"Comin' with…"

"Like hell!" Dean said angrily and stopped Sam's piss-poor attempt at standing up. "You can barely walk, let alone aim a gun. I'm doin' this, Sam and you're stayin' right the hell here where I know you're safe. Don't gimme any crap on this." He stood and grabbed up the weapons bag, digging through it. "Never should'a let you talk me into letting you play bait-boy in the first place. Dammit!"

"N-not…your f-fault…god!" Sam couldn't stop the scream as it rumbled up out of him and arched his back off the bed.

Dean took a step toward him, wanting to hold him down, to comfort him somehow and make it not hurt so much. He forced himself to walk away instead. He had to. "Sammy, I'm gonna be back as soon as I can. I swear. You just…I'll be back." Leaving Sam writhing in pain because of his bad decision was one of the harder things Dean had ever had to do, and he closed the motel room door on Sam's cries with a tight feeling in his chest.

Sam heard the door shut and snapped his eyes open. "Dean?" He looked around the room but it was true…Dean had left. He was alone. Pain burned through him again and Sam tried to get up, to stand and go after his brother. He ended up in a heap on the floor, whimpering into the carpet and praying for the pain to stop while his fevered mind told him he deserved it. Sam shook his head and tried to rise again. He crawled to the end of the beds and realized his mouth felt parched like a desert.

"Sh…shit," Sam gasped, panting for air and heedless of the tears that rolled down his face out of his control. He managed only a couple of feet toward the little refrigerator before the pain took him down again. Sam screamed again. His voice was going hoarse, cracking and starting to fail. He hated that he couldn't keep the screams down. The agony just seemed to rip them out of him and he was exhausted. Sam lay on the floor heaving for breath and felt like he hadn't slept in a decade or more. He was so tired and so tired of hurting and he couldn't even escape by passing out thanks to the poison.

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Dean stalked through the forest, intent on his purpose and hating that his little brother had to spend Christmas screaming. He wondered if Sam even knew what day it was and then rolled his eyes with a soft snort. Of course he did. Sam always remembered the holidays while Dean usually forgot. Not this year. This year with Dad gone…Dean sniffed and pushed the thoughts away. He was going to make sure his little brother got to see next Christmas and spend it not screaming in agony.

The sound of a branch snapping nearby froze Dean in his tracks. He'd traded the pistol for a shotgun and raised it, turning and moved soundlessly to follow the source of the noise. He'd strapped his favorite machete to his hip, having decided that even something as mean and ugly as the nautilous couldn't survive long without its head. He rolled his shoulders, settling his pack more securely and picked up his pace when he heard the angry, heavy breathing of something close.

Dean saw movement ahead and hoped this time it was the creature. In the last two hours, he'd crept up on two wolves and one really pissed off rabbit. He couldn't even think of how badly it was going for his brother while he was gone or he'd lose focus. He pushed slowly through a screening of overhanging branches and a dangerous smile lit his face. The nautilous was there before him with its back to Dean as it crunched the bones of some poor, unsuspecting wolf. Dean could see the gray and white tail dangling limply over the nautilous' shoulder. He took another step closer and readied himself with a deep breath.

"Hey! Ugly!" Dean shouted. The wolf's carcass dropped to the ground with a wet thump and the nautilous spun. Blood spattered from its tentacles through the air with the movement and Dean fired a load of rock salt into its head before it could move. The creature reared back, clawing at its own face with a scream.

Dean dropped the shotgun and pulled the machete free. "Let's see just how tough that shell of yours is," he snarled and took a swing.

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"Sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Sam whispered into the ratty, motel carpet. He didn't know how long he'd been muttering and begging for relief but it had been long enough to assure him that Dean had left and wasn't coming back, and more than long enough for it to feel as if the unceasing pain was starting to tear at the edges of his sanity.

Sam sobbed out a breath and rolled to his side, holding his arms tight around himself. He'd earned this, this miserable death. He knew that. He'd had more than enough time to think about it in the hours since his big brother had left him. Sam felt fresh tears on his face and wasn't surprised he was crying, only that he had moisture left in his body to do it with. He'd shot his big brother. The pain ratcheted up another level, leaving him crying into the carpet again as he writhed with the memory of pulling the trigger and seeing Dean thrown into the water.

Dean…Wandell. Sam ground his forehead into the carpet with agony tearing through him like knives and hoped death would take it all away from him soon. He remembered it now, though he hadn't told Dean. He could remember the feeling of Wandell's blood rushing over his hands as he slit his throat and it sickened him. The nightmares that had woken him every night since they'd exorcised Meg from him were always a horror show, bouncing back and forth between shooting his brother and the brutal murder of another Hunter.

Why would Dean even bother trying to save him? He wouldn't, of course. The depth of that loss, coupled with the never-ceasing waves of pain stole the last of his breath and Sam welcomed it. At least dead, he wouldn't have to feel it anymore. He felt worn down to nothing and broken. There was no part of him worth saving…or left to save. Sam was so wrapped in his own misery, in the bitter loop of self-hate, that it took him several long minutes to realize he was no longer face down on the floor or that a gentle hand cupped the side of his face, wiping tears from his cheek and a voice spoke reassuringly in his ear. He blinked his eyes open slowly, trying to see through the pained haze that covered his vision and his mind refused to accept what he was seeing. He shook his head.

"Yeah, buddy. Come on, Sammy. You gotta slow this down. I know it hurts." Dean pulled Sam up and held his over-tall little brother against his chest. Finding his brother curled in a screaming, whimpering ball on the floor had shattered Dean's calm when he came through the door. That and the tears that made Sam's face glisten broke his heart. Sam's ragged breaths gusted under his chin, and Dean kept hold of his face so Sam could see him. "I'm right here, Sam. It's gonna stop, I promise. I killed the son of a bitch. It'll stop in a few hours, Bobby said. You just gotta keep breathin' til then, alright?"

"De…Dean?" Sam cried out as a fresh wave of agony went through his body and curled into the familiar chest, hearing his big brother's heart beating under his ear. "C…came back?"

"What? Of course I came back! Why wouldn't I?" Dean stared down at Sam in confusion, and then the misery on his little brother's face registered…the misery he'd seen there for days now, every time Sam caught him rubbing his shoulder. "Son of a…Sammy, I would never leave you. You got that? Never. You're my pain in the ass little brother. It's my job to take care of you. Jesus, Sam." He pulled him in and cupped a hand to the back of Sam's head while his breaths hitched into Dean's chest. "It's not your fault, what happened. Meg, Wandell…that's not on you, Sam. You gotta let it go now, man. It's eating you up and you gotta stop."

Sam sobbed a breath into his brother's shirt and reached up to clench a fist in the shoulder of his jacket, silently communicating his gratitude as he shook with pain and exhaustion.

Dean sat on the floor and held his brother for two more hours before the nautilous' venom finally ran its course with the creature dead. Sam's body slowly went heavy in his arms, dark head lolling against his chest and Dean realized he'd slipped, at last, into unconsciousness without the poison to force him awake.

"Ok, Sammy," Dean said softly. He eased his brother away a little and uncurled his legs with a grimace of discomfort for spending so long in the awkward position. He smiled a little when he had to pry Sam's fingers from his jacket even in sleep and wrapped his arms around Sam's chest, careful of the injuries. Dean maneuvered Sam's long, now limp, body up and back onto his bed. He laid him out and carefully bandaged each wound before tugging the blanket up over him. He rested a hand on Sam's chest over his heart and blew out a breath of relief.

"Get some sleep, little brother," Dean whispered, smiled and headed for the door. He had some work to do before his brother woke up.

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Sam opened his eyes slowly, blinking sluggishly as his eyes adjusted to the muted light coming in through the window over his head. For a second, he was confused with no memory of having gone to bed, and then the events of the night before flooded into his mind and he gasped. He bolted upright in bed and slapped a hand to his shoulder and the bandages there.

"Hey, hey! Careful! You'll ruin my handiwork," Dean said and smiled as he sat beside his brother on the bed and took a good look at him. "How you feelin'?"

"I…" Sam stopped and tried to really think about that question and he realized that he hurt…everywhere. "Crap…sore."

Dean nodded. "Figured you would be. That poison really put you through the ringer."

"I'm ok…I think. Other than, you know, sore." Sam looked up at Dean and remembered how he had spent hours convinced his big brother had left him and kicked himself now in the daylight for the ridiculousness of that thought. Dean never would and, with a clear head, he knew it like he knew the earth revolved around the sun. He gave Dean a small smile. "Dean…thanks."

Dean patted a bandage back in place and shrugged. "Couldn't let you kick it on Christmas, Sammy."

"Christmas?" Sam asked in surprise and realized that it was. He'd completely forgotten. "Holy shit!"

"Yeah, Christmas." Dean chuckled and stood, giving Sam a hand up. "Santa came in the night while you were havin' your little beauty sleep."

Sam looked around the motel room with fresh eyes and his jaw fell open. Dean had found a string of lights somewhere and hung them over the wall above the little television. He'd unearthed an anemic little tree and strung it with lights and dented beer cans and there were even several, newspaper-wrapped presents underneath it. "You did this," Sam whispered and looked at Dean with damp eyes. "For me."

Dean shrugged, uncomfortable with the adoring look in his little brother's eyes, no matter that it had been there since Sam was old enough to walk. "S'Christmas, dude. Of course I did something. Here." He grabbed the presents and shoved them into Sam's hands.

Sam stared down at them and looked up at his brother. He sniffed and lowered his head again so Dean wouldn't see the grateful tears crowding his eyes. "Thanks, Dean."

Dean smiled and nodded at Sam's gruff, emotion-filled voice and stood, clasping a hand to his uninjured shoulder for a moment. "Whatever, bitch." He chuckled and left Sam to open his gifts. They were the usual impromptu, Winchester gifts and he smiled when Sam laughed at the two copies of Hustler magazine. He grabbed the jug from the table and two cups and brought them back, sitting on the bed next to Sam. "Here." He poured a measure of eggnog into each and handed one to Sam. "Probably shouldn't be pouring whiskey into ya' right now but what the hell, it's Christmas."

Sam took a sip and quirked a brow. "There's whiskey in here?"

"Shuddup." Dean smirked at Sam's laugh. "No, I didn't pour the whole damn bottle in like you. Be happy you're gettin' any. You just spent half the night tryin' not to die."

Sam sobered and set the eggnog aside. "Dean." He leaned back against the headboard and looked at his brother. "You know I…I only thought you weren't coming back because I was out of my mind with pain."

"Better be the only damn reason," Dean said seriously and slapped Sam's knee before moving to the other bed. "Now, can we end this chick flick and turn the game on? Steelers should be kickin' the Bengals' asses by now."

Sam gave a watery laugh and grabbed his eggnog again. "Pretty sure the Bengals have a better team this year."

"Blasphemy!" Dean yelled and turned the television on with the remote, flicking through the channels for the game. "Steelers are the come-back kings, dude. Polamalu makes the Bengals quarterback piss his pants."

Sam laughed and felt the weight of the horror he'd survived last night finally slip away as he relaxed back into the bed. "Pretty sure Polamalu makes every quarterback piss their pants. The guy's not human."

Dean waggled his brows at Sam and tossed the remote aside as the game came on. "Maybe we should check him out. You know…make sure he's not a shifter or something."

"Werecheetah. Do they have those?" Sam grinned when Dean burst into laughter.

"If they do, he's one of them." Dean reached over with his eggnog and tapped the cup against Sam's. "Merry Christmas, little brother."

"Merry Christmas, Dean." Sam smiled, happy to be alive and have the sort of big brother who'd never leave him to die no matter what. "Wish I'd had the chance to get you something."

Dean nodded and looked over, meeting Sam's watery eyes for just a moment before looking away. "Already got mine, Sammy."

Sam had to cough to clear the lump in his throat with those soft words. He rubbed at his eyes and then moved as well as he could up off his bed and across to sit next to his brother. "Shut up. I'm cold and you're like a space heater."

Dean gave a soft laugh and moved over to make room for Sam, letting him sit beside him until he was leaning heavily on his shoulder. "Big girl," Dean said with a soft smile. He tugged his leather jacket up from the foot of the bed and gave it a practiced twitch so it settled over Sam. If it gave him a warm sort of feeling in his gut that his little brother instantly snuggled under the familiar weight and rested his head on his shoulder in pretty much the exact same way he always did when he was younger and was hurt or sick or scared…well…Dean was never going to admit to it. He had his little brother alive for Christmas. That was all he needed.

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_The End. _

Up Next: Hyb108


	4. Chapter 4 for Hyb108

**Title:** Reader's Special: Fourth Edition - One Shot Reward Fic Collection

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** A collection of 1 Shot Reward Fics for Prompters of my Reader's Special: Fourth Edition. Features many seasons, hurt/limp/awesome/caring!Sam/Dean/John/Bobby See each chapter for specific info for each 1 shot reward fic.

**Author's Note:** The Reader's Special: Fourth Edition was a smashing success! Prompters of the story were offered a One Shot Reward story of their choice. These are they. None of the chapters contained in this collection are connected. Each one is a stand-alone one shot per the Prompters request. Thank you to all of you who prompted the Reader's Special! You were fantastic as always!

**Chapter Info:** For Hyb108 - For my one-shot...A pre-series fic with the three Winchesters, in which Sam has an altercation with Dean and John. Whatever it is, it's not his fault, but the other two are too stubborn to admit it. By the time they get around to it, Sam is already paying the price for their mistake.

**A/N: **Did some brainstorming with my lovely Beta, JaniceC678 (who is betaing all these btw :D)and came up with a scenario that hopefully won't feel recycled as this prompt is popular fodder for us writers. Sam 14/Dean 18

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

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Sam watched his dad and his brother packing and glared at them, both out of anger at them and fear for them. They were so sure. "Dean…"

"Sam, knock it off," John said severely and didn't have to look to know his youngest was standing there with his thin arms crossed over his chest and a look meant to melt stone on his fourteen-year-old face. "We've talked about this and it's done now."

"No, it's not!" Sam said in a near shout. "You're just not listening to me because you still think I'm a stupid kid, and it's gonna get you both hurt!"

"Dude." Dean handed a sawed-off shotgun to his father and went to his brother, hoping to head off the second tantrum that night before their dad's patience gave out and Sam paid for it. "We're gonna be fine. You know that. We always come back." Dean took Sam's shoulders in his hands and looked down at him with a tight smile. The kid had shot up over the last year, but Dean still had half a foot on him. "You're an awesome researcher, Sammy but this time you're off. It's no big deal."

"I am NOT off!" Sam shook off his big brother's hands and glared at him. "There are two creatures out there! Two! And you're only gearing up for one of them!"

"Sammy," Dad's voice was a snarl of barely-controlled temper and he rounded on his youngest. "Drop it. Now. It's a wendigo. All the evidence points to it. Even your research says it's a wendigo."

"And a wechuge! Dammit, dad! I'm right!" Sam yelled and then sucked in a breath while Dean covered his own face with his hand. His father took two menacing steps toward him. He steeled himself because no matter how pissed off his father got, he wasn't prepared to lose his family just because they wouldn't listen to him. He straightened his shoulders and stuck out his chin. "I'm right, and a flare gun to the heart won't kill a wechuge. You'll just piss it off. It's a cousin…"

"To the wendigo, I know!" John cut a hand through the air. "And no one's seen one south of the Canadian border ever!"

"Until now!" Sam turned to his brother, hoping to find him more reasonable. "Dean, please! You have to believe me."

"I believe you think you're right, buddy." Dean shook his head and patted his little brother's shoulder. "But I gotta go with dad on this one. I mean, seriously. What are the odds that both creatures decide to set up shop in the same back woods of northern Oregon? Come on, Sam."

"But the frostbitten victims…" Sam started and his father cut him off.

"It's winter, Sam! Of course they're frostbitten! Enough!" John bellowed. He grabbed Sam's arm, ignoring the instant, dark and rebellious look on Dean's face and gave his youngest a shove toward the hall. "You're staying here. I'm not having you arguing with us while we're tracking a wendigo. You'll get us all killed." He pushed Sam down the short hall and into the bedroom he was sharing with his older brother. "We'll be back by morning or maybe the day after. Don't gimme any more crap on this, Sammy." He said darkly and slammed the door on Sam's angry face. He stalked back into the living room and raised a finger to Dean. "Don't you even start with me, Ace. I am NOT in the mood right now."

Dean snapped his mouth closed and swallowed the angry words he'd been about to throw at his father for manhandling his brother. "Fine." They finished packing and Dean was surprised that Sam actually stayed in his room the whole time. He'd expected him to come right back out and carry on the argument, but for once, it looked like Sam had decided to keep his mouth closed instead of picking a fight with their father.

"Let's go," John ordered and motioned Dean out the door ahead of him. He gave one, short look back to the empty hall and blew out a breath. While he loved that Sam was so damn intelligent and becoming an independent man in his own right, it was damn frustrating at the same time when he wouldn't listen to orders as easily as his older brother. He pulled the door of the little house closed behind him and followed Dean's stiff, unhappy shoulders out the driveway. "Get in. I'm driving."

Dean staggered to a stop and raised a hand. "Uh, naw I'm good." He turned back to the Impala and groaned when his dad grabbed his arm and gave him a push to his truck instead. "Dad, come on!"

"You really want to drive a classic car up that mountain road?" John gave him a last push to the passenger door. "You'd be cleaning mud, snow and salt off her for a week. Get in."

Sam watched from his bedroom window as their dad forced Dean into his truck, leaving the Impala behind to gleam darkly in the streetlight. He watched the big, black pickup pull away from the house and vanish down the road and then he twitched the curtain closed with a small, grim smile. "Thanks, dad," Sam said softly, pulled on his coat and went quickly back out to the kitchen. He grabbed up his discarded backpack and hastily filled it with two flashlights, a canteen, a small first aid kit and some energy bars. He slid his knife into the sheath on his thigh and grabbed the small handgun Dean had given him for his birthday, shoving it into the back of his pants. Sam pulled open the drawer next to the phone in the kitchen and smiled, taking out the spare set of keys for the Impala.

"Sorry, Dean. You'll forgive me later." Sam left the house, locking it up behind him and jogged down the drive to the sleek, black car. He popped the trunk and rummaged through the hidden compartment, shoving a few more odds and ends into his pack before he slapped it closed and got behind the wheel. "I hope you forgive me later," Sam said and turned the engine over.

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Dean moved silently at his father's side through the night-darkened forest and tugged his jacket more tightly across his chest. It was close to freezing, and while the snow had stopped two days before, there was still a good foot of it on the ground they walked over. The trees around them were crusted in white and just seemed to make him colder as he looked at the boughs glistening in the beams from their flashlights.

"Dean."

His father's soft voice spurred Dean into a faster walk and he looked to where his dad was pointing. A pair of booted feet stuck out from beneath a cover of brush between two trees ahead of them, and Dean looked around the forest with wary eyes. He nodded to his father's raised brow and turned to watch the forest behind them with his flare gun raised. "Got it."

John gave a small smile and knelt next to the body, trusting Dean to watch his back. He pulled some of the branches away and grabbed hold of a leg, tugging until he had the body dragged out into the snow. "Damn," he said softly and shook his head. "Poor sucker." The man's heavy, winter coat was torn open in a bloody mess. Fluffy bits of the coat's lining were stuck to the body with freezing, drying blood like some macabre, stuffed child's toy. John pulled the remains of the coat away from the man's chest and grimaced at the chunks of flesh and bone torn from his body. He brushed his fingers over the blue, clearly frostbitten skin above his collar and sat back. "Wish we knew how long this guy's been out here."

Dean glanced back and down for a quick look and then whipped his head back at the crack of a branch. "Dad," he said in a fierce whisper. The sound came again and he held his breath, tracking the smallest movement in the trees beyond where the beam from his flashlight could not reach. "It's over there."

"You see it?" John raised his own flare gun and sighted along Dean's.

"Saw something." Dean gave a small shrug. "Could'a been a deer, I guess."

John shook his head, trusting his eldest's instincts. Another snap of wood breaking under a heavy weight made his body vibrate with tension. "Remember. They're damn fast."

"I know," Dean said and he did. He'd read his brother's research well. A dark shape dropped suddenly into view between two trees a mere dozen yards away and his finger tensed on the flare gun's trigger.

"Not yet," John whispered. "Let it get closer. Don't wanna miss and piss it off. Come on. Come on." He took a step ahead of his son, hopefully making himself a tasty target and watched the too-tall shadow sway in the flicker of light from their flashlights.

Dean took a step to the right to keep his father out of his line of fire. He kept the gun trained on the wendigo's shadow as it moved closer in a burst of speed that made his skin crawl. "Bitch is really fast. Damn."

"Don't take your eyes off it." John ordered softly.

Dean nodded, waiting for the wendigo to come just a bit closer and give them the clear shot they needed to put an end to the thing. He steadied his right hand and the gun with his left and took a deep breath, preparing to fire and jerked in shock at the soft sound of a branch breaking behind them. His mouth fell open as he turned his head, feeling in that moment like every idiot in every slasher film he'd ever yelled at on the tv with his little brother, and he saw it - a second shape in the trees just behind them. The vaguely man-shaped creature was shorter and, as a shaft of light from the moon broke through the cloud cover above to shine down upon it, he saw that its desiccated skin was a pale blue covering of wrinkled flesh over visible bone that held it like a badly fit canvass. "Oh, God," he breathed. "Dad…Dad, Sam was right. He was…" Dean's words cut off as he tried to turn in time to meet the rush of the wechuge, but he was too slow. It was too close and it slammed into him, taking him in a jumble into his father and rolling all three of them across the snow-covered ground.

John grunted with the weight of his eldest son on his back. He spit snow and tried to roll. "Dean!" He shouted when he heard his son give a pained cry. He planted his arms in the snow and shoved. John grabbed his flare gun and rolled to his back as the weight left him. He gasped in horror to see the pale blue creature crouched above Dean and fired his flare gun at the creature's chest even as it slashed a wicked, clawed hand across Dean's chest to spray blood in a glistening arc across the trampled snow. The wechuge, for that was what it was, just as Sam had warned them, screamed and reared back as the flames from the flare licked at its body. John watched the creature he'd read about in Sam's research brush the offending flare away and tower over them unharmed. John pulled Dean to him with an arm, trying not to feel overcome with hopelessness when he came into his arms without a sound or a movement.

"Dean," John breathed and curled his arms protectively around his eldest son. He turned his head and saw the wendigo approaching from the cover of the trees behind them and realized they were going to die. He saw the flare gun still gripped in Dean's hand and reached down for it, though killing the wendigo wouldn't save them from the wechuge. He said a silent thanks for a moment that at least Dean wouldn't be awake for it, would be spared that particular horror at the hands of the creature, and then felt despair grip him as Dean stirred toward wakefulness in his arms. "I'm sorry, Dean," he whispered and took Dean's flare into his own hand as he listened to the wendigo crunch closer through the snow at his back. "Should have trusted Sam. God help me, I should have listened. This is my fault."

"D…dad?" Dean forced his eyes open and couldn't find room to breathe around the pain searing through his chest. His arms and legs felt leaden, but his heart began to pound as he realized he was being held by his father while the wechuge loomed over them. He tried to kick his legs, to push back and away, but his movements were sluggish and far too slow to save himself or his dad. The chilling reality that they were going to die slammed through him and drove a tear from his eyes knowing that Sam would be left alone because they were too stubborn to listen…because Dean had turned his back on him when he damn well knew better. "Sammy," he said in an agonized whisper as the wechuge bent for him again.

John tightened his arm around Dean and readied himself to take his one shot at the wendigo before it could reach them. He stared in shock when some sort of dart struck the wechuge and the creature gave a rage-filled scream in response. "What?" John gasped.

Dean blinked as a second dart joined the first and tried to make sense of what was happening in his fevered mind. Surely he must be hallucinating, he thought, as his little brother suddenly streaked into the clearing and fired a third dart at the wechuge before giving a loud yell and vanishing back into the trees. "S…Sam?"

The wechuge, all interest lost in the two humans on the ground, turned and sprinted after the one who had hurt it as it howled its anger. John shook his head once and then made use of the distraction. He twisted and fired their last flare straight into the wendigo's heart with a curl of fear for just how close it had come. It was a mere foot away and John could feel the heat from the thing as it screamed and burned, crumpling to the ground in a pile of ash.

"Dad!" Dean mustered what little strength he had and pushed at the arm holding him. "Was that Sam?"

"Yeah." John could hardly believe it himself. Somehow, his youngest son had followed them and arrived at the last moment to save both their lives from their own stubbornness. "We gotta get up. You stand?" He looked down at Dean and got a weary nod in response, at odds with the frantic look on his face.

"Gotta find him." Dean let his father pull him up so he was sitting and folded over his clawed chest with a groan of pain. His head shot up at the sound of a gun firing somewhere nearby. "Sam!" he called out but the only response was another scream from the wechuge. There was another shot followed by two more and the wechuge's howls cut off suddenly. The forest was left in a heavy silence that seemed to stretch on endlessly and made both older Winchesters fear for the life of the youngest.

"Come on, Dean," John said at last and shook off the paralysis that held him. He stood and brought Dean up with him slowly, trying not to think too hard about the amount of blood staining the front of his eldest's shirts. He took a quick look, relieved to not see bone through the deep gashes, but it was bad enough.

Dean pushed his father's hands away and pointed. "That way…the gunshots came from there. Dad."

"I know. We'll hurry." John started them moving in a stumbling gait through the snow and into the trees. He followed the shoe impressions Sam had left in the snow as he'd run and drawn off the wechuge.

Dean fought to keep moving, to keep his legs underneath him and not give in to the need to simply curl up on the ground and huddle around his wounded chest while crying. He needed to find his brother. "Sam!" Dean called again and wrapped an arm over his bloodied chest when the effort shot even more pain through him.

"Take it easy, Ace. We're gonna find him. He's fine." John listened hard but still heard nothing and it made his heart hurt. "He has to be fine. Sammy? You answer me!"

"Dad." Dean pointed ahead of them to where the body of the wechuge was sprawled in the snow. Blood pooled under the thing's body, turning the snow into red slush, and he found the energy to take his own weight and walk faster. "Sam! Sammy?"

"Wait, Dean!" John made a grab for him as Dean angled toward the creature. He drew his pistol from his back and aimed at the wechuge in case it wasn't dead. It hadn't burned into ash like the wendigo, and he wasn't going to trust it until he was sure. He wished now he'd paid more attention to the careful research Sam had done. "Be careful, dammit!"

Dean growled softly under his breath and staggered around the wechuge and around a screen of bushes. "Sammy!" He forgot his own pain when he saw his brother finally and ran the last few yards to where he lay. "Dad! He's here! Oh, God, Sam. Please be ok."

John gave the wechuge's carcass a kick, and, satisfied that it was truly dead, he followed the sound of Dean's voice and felt the blood rush out of his head. Sam lay in the snow face down in the center of a circle of spattered blood. A dart gun lay by one of his hands, and his other still gripped the handle of a .45. John's mind refused to accept that he was dead, in spite of how still and broken his baby boy looked. "Sammy," he whispered and knelt next to Sam across from Dean. "No, don't move him yet. Hang on." He gently pushed Dean's hands off his brother's jacket and put shaking fingers to Sam's neck, under the long hair he was still trying to get the boy to cut. "Be there, dammit. Please be there."

Dean watched his father's face and saw the moment he found Sam's pulse in the profound relief that flowed over his face. He sagged and took hold of his little brother's arm, helping his father to carefully roll him over. Dean sucked in a horrified breath with the sight of Sam's chest. Like his own, it was covered in blood, and the wechuge had torn great rents in his shirts. "Sammy." He hovered a hand over the wounds, unsure where to touch him.

John leaned down and held his ear over his youngest son's mouth. He closed his eyes, dizzy with relief when he heard the shallow breaths passing his lips. "He's alive. He's breathing. He's gonna be fine."

"Dad, look at him!" Dead said in disbelief. "He's torn up!"

"And he'll be fine," John said firmly because he wouldn't allow it to be any other way. This was all his fault, and he'd be damned if it cost him Mary's baby boy. He smoothed a hand through Sam's hair as Dean rested a hand on Sam's throat and sighed. "Gotta get you both out of here. You're both going to the hospital. Cougar attack, alright?" He waited for Dean to look up and give him a nod. "Just another hunting trip gone bad. Ok." He slid an arm under Sam's shoulders and sat him up slowly and slid his other arm under Sam's knees. Getting to his feet was an effort, but he managed it, refusing to stumble and drop his precious cargo. "Dean?"

"I'm good," Dean said breathlessly as he made himself stand. He walked alongside his father and kept a hand up and clasped around his brother's shoulder, needing the contact to reassure himself. The walk back and out of the forest seemed to take forever to him, and he knew, in a disconnected sort of way, that they were going more slowly because of him, that his dad had eased up on his pace to help him stay on his feet. Dean nearly went to his knees in relief when they came out of the trees and saw his dad's truck. Relief then gave way to anger when he saw the Impala parked alongside the truck. "Sammy, you…you bitch," he said in a hoarse growl and looked over at his little brother's pale face. "You wake up so…so I can kick your ass…stealin' my baby."

John smiled grimly and went to the Impala rather than his truck. They needed the extra room her seats provided. "You get in the back with him. Hold on to him, alright?"

"Couldn't…couldn't stop me," Dean said firmly and he leaned on his car for just a moment before pulling the back door open. He dropped tiredly onto the bench seat in the back and then slid across, reaching his arms out for his little brother as his dad knelt and maneuvered Sam inside.

"Watch his head," John said and knew he didn't need to as Dean took careful hold of his little brother and ended up stretched on the back seat with Sam resting against his chest, dark head tucked protectively under his chin, totally ignoring the added pain the pressure put on his own lacerated flesh. John closed the door and took a second to lean his head on the cold, black metal of the roof and settle his nerves and the frantic pounding of his heart. He'd nearly lost both his sons and his own life tonight, all because he'd too easily discounted Sam's research. Never again, he promised himself and went quickly around the car, sliding behind the wheel. He looked at his boys in the rearview mirror, pale, bloodied and huddled together like Dean could keep all the evils of the world at bay if he just held Sam tightly enough, and John swallowed hard. Never again.

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John stood in the door of his sons' room in the hospital and just watched them for a moment. He quirked a small smile because Dean had climbed out of his bed in the ten minutes John had been gone and was now laid out beside his brother in Sam's bed, like he needed to be next to him to be sure he was alive and well. Both boys' chests were swaddled in bandages, and John was thankful the emergency room staff had accepted his story of a cougar attack without batting an eye. The police had given him a firm lecture about camping in the Oregon backwoods in winter with his sons and he'd taken it humbly, eager to have them leave. John walked into the room quietly and went to stand beside the bed. "He'll wake up," he said softly, seeing the line of tension in Dean's back that said he was awake and alert. "You should be resting, Dean."

"I am resting." Dean squeezed Sam's arm again where he held on to him and watched his little brother's face. "My bed's lumpy."

"Uh huh." John smirked and shook his head, dropping into the chair to sit where he could watch Sam's face as well. "The doctor said he'll be alright. The lacerations are deep, but they didn't hit anything vital, and, uh…two broken ribs, so we're gonna be taking a couple weeks off to let him heal up."

Dean snorted. "Gee. A whole couple weeks."

"Don't, Dean," John said before his son could start in on him. He felt guilty enough already and he knew Dean did as well. They had both ignored Sam.

"Sorry," Dean said quietly and then lifted his head suddenly to look down at Sam's face. "Sammy?" He'd felt Sam's arm tense under his hand and as he watched, saw Sam's eyes begin to shift beneath his closed lids. "That's it, little brother. Wake up. Come on. Sam."

John stood and leaned over them, taking Sam's hand in his own in a tight grip. "Wake up, tiger."

Sam opened his eyes as the world came slowly back into focus. The first thing he was aware of was the burning ache in his chest, then the comforting pressure of his hand and his arm being held, of gentle fingers carding back through his hair and he knew that touch, had known it all his life. He blinked to focus his eyes and found Dean smiling down at him. He turned his head and saw his father leaning over him as well. "Hey."

Dean grinned at Sam's hoarse voice. It was the most beautiful thing he'd heard in days. "Hey, yourself. About time you woke up and joined the party." His smile faltered when Sam grimaced suddenly. "Don't try to move, ok? It'll just make it hurt worse."

The memory of the forest and the creatures suddenly came back to Sam in a rush - the image of his father holding his bloodied, deathly still brother and his desperation in drawing the wechuge away from them…killing it. He gasped and tried to sit up. "Dean!"

"Easy!" John caught Sam, sliding an arm behind his back before he could fall back to the bed as he gasped frantic, pained breaths. He eased his youngest son back to the bed and Dean. "No moving, Sammy. You've got two broken ribs."

"Crap," Sam panted for breath and took comfort in the solid weight of Dean's hand against his neck. "That…that really hurts."

"No kidding," Dean said ruefully and gestured at his own chest when Sam opened his eyes. "Didn't break any ribs, but we're matching mummies for a while, dude."

Sam managed a small smile and tried to slow his breathing. "Did…did I get it?"

John blew out a breath and sat on the sliver of bed not taken up by his sons. He squeezed his son's hand. "Yeah, Sammy. You got him," he said quietly and waited for Sam's eyes to meet his. "You saved our lives, and…I'm sorry. I should have listened to you."

"We should have," Dean added and nodded at Sam's surprised look. "I'm sorry, Sammy. I swear it'll never happen again." He smiled and squeezed Sam's hand harder. "But we're gonna have a talk about you stealin' my car."

Sam laughed again, wincing when it made his ribs pull painfully. "Had…had to. S'what you…you would have done."

John saw Sam's face paling as he fought to keep his eyes open and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Go to sleep, Sammy. We'll be here when you wake up again." He brushed a lock of overlong hair out of Sam's eyes as he stilled and smiled when he instinctively turned his head to rest under his big brother's chin. No matter how old Sam got, he never grew out of needing that comfort when he was hurt. "You too, Dean. Sleep."

Dean lowered his head to the pillow above his brother's. "I ain't movin'."

John chuckled and sat in his chair again. "Didn't think you would be. Sleep already, son. I'll be right here." It was a tacit assurance that he would keep watch over them both so Dean could sleep, knowing Sam was safe and looked after. He watched his eldest settle in beside his youngest, and the fact that Dean had put himself between Sam and the door was not lost on him. He could console himself, at the least, with knowing he'd done that much right. There was nothing Dean wouldn't do to protect Sam. He rested his head on the back of the chair and blew out a slow, quiet breath, finally allowing himself to relax now that he knew for sure Sam wouldn't pay for his bull-headedness with his life. "Never again," he mouthed soundlessly as he looked at his sons, repeating the silent promise to himself that he had made in the car. Never again would he be forced to watch one of his children die because of him.

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_The End. _

**Up Next:** BackgroundRobot-11


	5. Chapter 5 for BackgroundRobot-11

**Title:** Reader's Special: Fourth Edition - One Shot Reward Fic Collection

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** A collection of 1 Shot Reward Fics for Prompters of my Reader's Special: Fourth Edition. Features many seasons, hurt/limp/awesome/caring!Sam/Dean/John/Bobby See each chapter for specific info for each 1 shot reward fic.

**Author's Note:** The Reader's Special: Fourth Edition was a smashing success! Prompters of the story were offered a One Shot Reward story of their choice. These are they. None of the chapters contained in this collection are connected. Each one is a stand-alone one shot per the Prompters request. Thank you to all of you who prompted the Reader's Special! You were fantastic as always!

**Chapter Info:** For BackgroundRobot-11 - I think I have an idea. It involves Sam and Dean sort of discussing their own humanity and their methods. See, it sort of bothers me that ever since they got Ruby's knife, they've barely exercised the demons they encounter, instead just killing both the demon and their vessel outright. Not to mention how they seem to have completely forgotten poor Adam. He's been in the cage for how many years now?

**A/N: **In order to add guilt about Adam, I've set this in season 6 after Sam has his soul back. Post 6x14 "Mannequin 3 the Reckoning". :D Hope you enjoy it, dear!

**Also, apologies for the delay on this one. LOL I was working on a new book and close to finished and published another. That makes four now. :P Remember, you can find me easily on Amazon by searching "Kurrie Hoyt". As a starving Indie Author, I welcome any support from you, my wonderful Supernatural family! *hugs*

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

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Sam turned in the dark hall for a look over his shoulder and heard the sound of heavy feet following. He blew out a breath and ran faster, pumping his legs while air burned in his chest as he hit a fifth flight of stairs and started up them. Distantly, he wished they'd made this plan down on the first floor as he banged into a wall, bounced off, and started up the last flight.

"Dean!" Sam called hoarsely and started down the hall. The footsteps were closer; the thing following him had no need to worry about catching its breath, and he found more energy somewhere to run even faster. He was reaching for the door of the room they'd agreed on when raw force hit him square in the back. Sam was propelled forward to crash into the door and through it into the room. He slid and rolled along the floor and came to a stop against the back wall, heaving for air. Sam lifted his head just in time to watch the demon-possessed man slam through the door with a menacing grin, take a step toward him, and then stagger to a stop in shock. Sam smiled. "Oops," he said breathlessly to the demon and reached an arm out to his side. "Next time…you're doing…the running. Five flights, dude."

Dean chuckled and came out of the shadows to grab his little brother's arm and pull him up. "Quit whining." He brushed his hands over Sam's dusty hair and down his back. "You good?" Sam gave him a nod and he pushed him gently to the side. "Bottle of water on the table. So!" Dean turned with a dangerous smile to look at their captive as it paced the confines of the devil's trap drawn on the ceiling and snarled. "Fancy meeting you here."

"PISS off, Winchester!" The demon growled and banged his fists on the invisible barrier while it glared death at him.

"Bet you're pissed you fell for that, huh?" Dean said with a smirk. He pulled the demon killing knife from the small of his back and held it up so the thing could see it. "Your days of luring co-eds to their deaths in here are done, asshole."

The demon threw his hands up and leaned against the wall of his prison. "Took you long enough. Six damn months!"

"I…wait. What?" Dean frowned and shared a confused look with his brother.

"You two been taking a damn vacation or what?" The demon rolled his eyes. "You didn't think maybe this was a _little_ obvious? Well, I mean, apparently not for you. Do you know how many Hunters we had to quietly knock off until you two morons finally took notice?" He snorted. "Daddy's little bulbs aren't the brightest in the box, huh?"

"Oh, crap. Dean?" Sam picked up the shotgun loaded with rock salt and looked out the windows. "Nothing outside."

"You lured us?" Dean raised a brow and pointed up to the devil's trap. "Not much of a plan, genius."

"Dean. He said 'we'." Sam looked at his brother and then over to the demon. "There are more of you in here?"

"And the mutant wins the Kewpie doll!" the demon said in a tone dripping with sarcasm. He straightened and stood fearlessly under Dean's angry gaze. "We owe you. You don't think you and your pet angel get to kill the King of Hell and just walk away? Really?"

There was a sudden commotion in the hall and Dean tensed. "Sammy!" He stepped forward and slammed the demon killing knife into the demon's chest, watching the light flare behind his eyes before he slumped in death. Dean dragged him out of the devil's trap and dropped the body off to the side. The trap was their single line of defense now, and he only hoped there weren't too many of them.

"Here!" Sam tossed his brother a flask of holy water and spared a moment to look down at the dead demon…Sam shook his head…the dead MAN…and said a silent apology to him, wherever the poor soul had gone.

"You stay back there and start chanting when they get in." Dean stuck his head briefly out the door and then flattened his back along the wall beside it. "Got four more comin' down the hall."

"They'll never let me finish the exorcism," Sam pointed out as he moved back to try and stay out of the demons' line of sight as long as possible.

"Should piss 'em off enough to distract them, at least." Dean grinned dangerously and then grunted as he was thrown from the wall into the room while the wall shook in a shower of dust behind him. "Crap," he groaned and rolled to his knees as he heard Sam's voice raise up and fill the room with Latin. The first demon through the door stumbled into Dean's devil's trap while the second received a face full of holy water that left him smoking and screaming as he staggered back. Dean knifed the new demon in the trap and pulled his blade free as a third leaped heedlessly through the door and into him. The demon's body was caught against the invisible wall of the trap in a sudden stop, while Dean slid on his back over the floor to fetch up against the far wall like his brother had.

Sam took a step toward Dean to help and stopped when his brother shook his head in warning. He kept up the exorcism instead, speaking the words as quickly as he dared, but then two more demons appeared in the door. One of them reached up to scuff out a line of the devil's trap and free the third while his brother was suddenly picked up and pinned to the wall with a pained groan. Sam kept chanting even as he dove across the room and scooped up the fallen knife.

Dean watched his little brother wade into the demons while continuing the exorcism, though he knew they'd never let him finish. Sam killed the demon that had struck Dean as it tried to rise, pushed the body back into the one that had freed it, and slammed the blade home into the last demon. It proved to be the one whose powers held Dean captive as he slid to the floor with a thump at the demon's death.

The final demon wasn't going to give up without a fight. Sam grunted as hands like vices gripped his throat and squeezed, cutting off his air and ending the exorcism he was within a sentence of finishing. He choked with the pressure and tried to free the knife from the chest of the demon he'd killed.

"Big…bastard. Goin' down, Sammy!" The demon growled it into his ear as he squeezed harder and heard the last trickle of air escape Sam's lips while his knees began to buckle. "Too bad you shoved Lucifer back in his cage. No one left to save your ass now, is…" His words died on a choked gargle when his head was yanked back and a flask of holy water was forced into his mouth.

Dean watched steam pour up from inside the demon while Sam fell to his knees. He let the thing go and scrambled to the demon with the knife standing from its back. "Hang on, Sammy," he whispered. Dean pulled the knife free and lunged back to the demon before he could regain his feet. He shoved the knife into the demon's chest and rode him to the floor, watching the red light flash beneath his skin. Dean pulled the blade out of the dead man's chest and went to his brother.

"Sam?" Dean dropped next to him and put an arm of his shoulders while Sam hacked and gasped, trying to catch his breath. He pulled him up from where Sam was curled over himself. "Hey, come on. Come here." He pulled his brother's chin up and grimaced at the bruises already forming on his neck. "Damn."

"Ok…I'm ok," Sam said in a choked voice and coughed. He looked around and raised a brow. "Any…any survivors?"

"You and me, little brother." Dean grinned and pulled Sam to his feet. "Here. Take this and lemme pack up our crap." He slipped the demon knife into his brother's hand and only moved away once Sam gave him a nod.

Sam leaned against the wall while his head cleared and tried to listen for anyone else in the hall. He looked at the bodies littering the floor and felt a pang of guilt for the innocent men who'd died at their hands. "Dean."

"Almost. Hang on." Dean shoved the last of their holy water, the salt, and the shotgun into the duffel and then went to Sam. He took Sam's arm and steered him out the door. "Let's shag ass before more of those bastards come looking for these."

Sam nodded and did his best to walk steadily as they descended five floors back, although his legs felt like spaghetti by the time they got down to the street and the welcome sight of the Impala parked under the light. "Here." He handed the knife to his brother and collapsed into the passenger seat letting his head fall back.

Dean looked over at his brother several times on the drive back to the motel and knew there was some chick flick incoming. Sam had been too silent for too long, staring out the passenger window. He shook his head and pulled into the motel in front of their room. "Go on in. I'm gonna grab some ice for that pretty neck of yours."

Sam rolled his eyes and got out. He let Dean jog away down the building and opened the door, stepping inside and went to the bathroom for his first look in the mirror as he flipped on the light. "Geez," Sam groaned and lifted his chin as he looked at his reflection, running his fingers over the darkening ring of bruises in the shape of the demon's fingers. He turned away and shrugged off his jacket before dropping to sit on the side of his bed and sighed.

Dean returned with a full bucket of ice and found his brother where he expected, sitting on his bed looking morose about something. He turned his head to hide the smirk as he grabbed a bag and filled it with ice. Sometimes Sam was so damn predictable. He schooled the amusement off his face before he turned back and tossed the bag to Sam. "Head's up. How's it feel?"

"Like someone tried to twist my head off," Sam said ruefully and held the ice to his neck. He closed his eyes on a grateful moan while the cold began to seep in and soothe the ache. "Hey…Dean?"

"Uh huh." Dean quickly grabbed two beers out of the little refrigerator, figuring he, at least, would need one by the time they were done with whatever this was going to be. He held one out to Sam and then went to sit at the little table. "Ok, what's eatin' you up?"

"We killed five people today."

Dean stared in surprise. That hadn't even been on his list of things his little brother would bring up. "Yeah. Five demons. It was a good day. What's your point?"

"No, Dean. People." Sam set the beer aside and leaned forward to look over at him. "We killed five innocent people today just to kill the demons inside them, and we didn't…we didn't even flinch. We don't even…think about it anymore. We just kill them and there are people in there, Dean. Innocent, terrified people, and the last thing they see is our faces when we murder them!"

"Whoa! Where's this comin' from?" Dean stood and looked down at his brother. "Dude, we're doin' a public service. You know that."

"We used to try and save them," Sam said, trying to reign his emotions back in. He realized he'd nearly been yelling at the end there. "We used to…care that there are people in there. Why…when did we stop seeing the people?"

"Sam." Dean scrubbed a hand through his hair in a bid for patience and took a deep breath. "We do save them. We are. We're savin' those poor bastards from a fate a lot worse than death."

"They're living people, Dean."

"Bullshit, Sam. Odds are, they were long dead," Dean said angrily. "You know demons aren't picky about what condition their meat suits are in."

"You don't know that!" Sam rose from the bed while the guilt consumed him. "We don't know that! They're people with lives and families, and we just…we just kill them!"

"It's a damn public service, Sam!" Dean shouted over top of him and waved his arms. "You think they wanna spend eternity being used as a puppet? Being forced to watch themselves doing horrible things to other people….like all those girls here?" Dean sighed as his temper drained away and met his brother's eyes. Sam opened his mouth to make another argument and Dean stopped him in his tracks with a single word. "Meg." Sam's mouth hung open for a moment in shock as he stared with wide eyes and then he snapped it shut. Dean smiled sadly, hating himself a little for doing it but knowing that Sam needed to understand this. "We got lucky, me and Bobby. You know we did. That bitch…" Dean rubbed a hand through his hair again and sat on the bed across from his brother as Sam dropped back to with a weary thump. "She almost had us, dude. If Bobby hadn't burnt that brand off your arm…"

"You'd have been forced to kill me to stop her," Sam said softly and nodded.

"Or you would have gotten to watch her use your body to rip us apart. Just like Wandell. Only it would have been me and Bobby." Sam paled and closed his eyes. He remembered all too well his horror at watching himself beat and murder the random Hunter Meg had selected. The idea that it could have been Dean and Bobby...

"Sam, I swear. If we had the luxury of trapping every demon and exorcising them, we'd do it," Dean said fiercely. "You know we would. I would. But how can we when they keep comin' at us like that? We get ganked tryin' to be soft-hearted, and it doesn't do anyone any good."

"I just…there has to be a better way." Sam tossed the bag of ice to the bed and dropped his pounding head into his hands. "There's got to be some way we can at least try to save more of them."

"Sam." Dean watched his brother, and the anguish was an almost visible cloud hanging around him. "Talk to me, dude. What brought this on? Why are you fallin' apart over this now? I'm not sayin' you're wrong 'cause…you're not. And it sucks, but we do what we have to do, and I know you know that. So why now?" He heard Sam mumble something and Dean leaned forward to hear him. "What?" When the single word, the name, finally registered, Dean's face went slack in shock and he reared back with a chill settling in his bones. "Sam… that's not… I couldn't… dammit."

"I'm sorry," Sam said softly and lifted his head out of his hands. "I shouldn't have said it. I know we'd save… save Adam if we could."

Dean pushed up from the bed and strode away, needing to not be sitting for a moment and only barely restrained the urge to plant a fist in the wall. He carried more than his share of guilt over past decisions around with him, and there were few that weighed more heavily on him than Adam, the little brother he'd barely had time to know and been forced to leave behind. Dean had thought there wasn't any place worse to be trapped than Hell. He'd been wrong. Eternity in a box with two pissed off archangels and you their only entertainment was worse. He knew, after being told by an angel, two demons, and Death himself, what it had done to Sam's soul in the year he'd been there. The idea of that torment going on forever was unthinkable. He closed his eyes and clenched his fists while he swallowed the familiar, bitter taste of the guilt back into the hole he kept it in.

"Maybe…maybe he's not down there." Sam had no access to his memories of the Cage, but he clearly remembered everything before it…everything that happened in Stull. "Michael, he said Adam wasn't there anymore. Maybe he sent his soul back to Heaven before the big showdown." It was a slim hope at best, he knew, and Sam saw Dean shaking his head before he closed his eyes and lowered his own. He wasn't sure he would ever get past the all-too visceral memory of nearly beating his big brother to death with his own fists, of feeling Dean's bones snapping and cracking under his knuckles. The sensation of falling…it haunted him still. Sam woke sometimes in the night, jerking himself awake from a nightmare where he was endlessly falling toward something huge and black and terrifying and Adam's face was always with him…Adam with the archangel Michael looking out from behind his eyes.

Sam gasped with a sudden sting on his face and opened his eyes to find Dean inches away and kneeling in front of him. He held Sam's head in his hands with a look of fear on his face. "Yeah…sorry. I'm sorry. I'm ok." Sam gasped it, feeling how his heart was pounding and his lungs starving for air.

"No scratching, Sammy. Jesus." Dean said hoarsely and took his shoulders to give him a shake. He watched Sam's face for a moment more until he was sure there wasn't about to be a repeat of the Cage-induced seizure he'd had days before, and then he let him go to sit on the bed across from him.

"I wasn't scratching. At least…not intentionally." Sam rubbed the space between his eyes to alleviate the headache brewing there. "Crap."

Dean blew out a breath of relief. He picked his beer back up again and grabbed Sam's too, handing it to him. He bumped the side of his brother's head with the bottle until Sam looked up with a grimace and took it. "Why do I let you start these conversations?"

Sam had to smile at that. "Because you're an awesome big brother, or so you constantly remind me."

"Oh, right." Dean grinned and reached across to pick up the bag of ice. He pushed against his brother's neck until Sam took hold of it and kept it there. "Look…"

"No. I know. I do." Sam shook his head and managed another smile for him. "We free the ones we can from possession, and the rest…killing them to kill the demon is saving them."

"And saving some other poor sucker down the road from ending up as a demonic condom," Dean finished quietly. He raised his beer and drained it, then set it aside before catching Sam's eyes again. "I'm always looking, Sammy. I don't…" He shook his head and sighed. "I don't think I'm gonna find a way to get Adam outta that hell hole. I think Death was my one shot, and that's never happening again, but I've always got my eyes open."

"I know." Sam smiled again and this time he felt it. He raised his own beer and took a long drink. He did know that. However short a time they'd had to know him, Adam was family. "Dean…thanks."

Dean snorted and got up. He went to the fridge and took out two more beers. "Crisis of conscience averted?" He asked as he passed a fresh one to his brother.

Sam groaned with a roll of his eyes and leaned back against the wall behind his bed to rest his head. "Yes, jerk."

"Good." Dean smiled. He sat on his own bed and picked up the remote, turning the television on. "Grab the phone and order us some pizza, bitch."

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_The End. _

**Next Up:** zemyx1995

I'm still waiting for prompts from the following:

ALittleTwisted2  
AshleyMarie84  
DearHeart  
JaniceC678  
K Hanna Korossy  
Marz  
Meliphyre  
missingmikey  
Miuda22  
quillop  
samar  
sammynanci  
Visionary


	6. Chapter 6 for zemyx1995

**Title:** Reader's Special: Fourth Edition - One Shot Reward Fic Collection

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** A collection of 1 Shot Reward Fics for Prompters of my Reader's Special: Fourth Edition. Features many seasons, hurt/limp/awesome/caring!Sam/Dean/John/Bobby See each chapter for specific info for each 1 shot reward fic.

**Author's Note:** The Reader's Special: Fourth Edition was a smashing success! Prompters of the story were offered a One Shot Reward story of their choice. These are they. None of the chapters contained in this collection are connected. Each one is a stand-alone one shot per the Prompters request. Thank you to all of you who prompted the Reader's Special! You were fantastic as always!

**Chapter Info:** For zemyx1995 - something…where the boys are out in the woods…hunting and Sam eats some berries or something, Sam has an allergic reaction... cue some trouble breathing, barely conscious Sammy and maybe Dean carrying him on his back with Sam going in and out of consciousness... and you can do whatever from there, also set any time except pre-series and season 4.

**A/N: **This one is set after 1x04 "Phantom Traveller". :D Seemed like a good place to put it and boy did I have to do some digging to find something innocuous Sam could eat in a forest that could potentially cause a reaction in him but not in Dean. I'm not a doctor, clearly, so have done my best to avoid any specific medical mentions. I only use those in cases where I'm painfully familiar. Lmao

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

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Dean strode through the dense woods, leading ahead of his brother with a grin. He shoved another clump of branches out of his way and snickered under his breath when he heard the tell-tale thump and curse that said his little brother had taken a face-full yet again. That made him four for four, and he figured sooner or later Sam was going to snap and kick him for it. He ducked under another branch and caught the one beyond with his hand, gave it a flick, and let it swing back as he passed.

"Dammit, Dean!" Sam shouted and spit leaves out of his mouth. "Would you knock it the hell off already?"

Dean rolled his eyes, relieved that he'd finally gotten a rise out of him and put a grin in place when he turned. "What's the matter, Sammy? I thought sasquatches liked the wilderness."

"God! You are…" Sam ducked and grabbed a handful of leaves and mud, throwing them at Dean's face as he stood. "…a gigantic pain in the ass!"

"And your aim sucks." Dean laughed as he dodged most of the pile. Sam had spent the last few days slipping into himself in depression. Dean was all too familiar with what that loss looked like after their father's descent into depression and he'd made a promise to himself not to let Sam go the same way. When kindness and coddling hadn't gotten Sam to snap out of it, Dean had found this hunt in the middle of nowhere and decided to use frustration instead to break through that wall his brother was building up around himself. That had almost always worked for him in the past when Dean had used the tactic rather frequently to bring their dad back when he'd slip into his funks, cuddling whiskey bottles and not speaking for days. Dean had purposefully courted a few bruises as a kid to help his dad take care of them. He didn't mind at all now if a bruise or two would help snap Sam out of his funk because Jess' loss was still too fresh, only weeks behind them, and finding out a few days ago that their dad was alive and, for whatever reason, avoiding them hadn't helped. Dean silently cursed his dad again.

"Stop trying to piss me off!" Sam shouted and stormed past his brother.

"Oh, quit bein' such a princess." Dean grabbed another branch and flung it at Sam's back, nodding happily when Sam growled under his breath with his rising frustration. Wouldn't be long now, Dean thought to himself.

Sam kicked a dead limb out of his path and slapped a bushy branch out of his way as he walked. Dean had spent the better part of three days giving him his space and quiet, and Sam wanted to knock him out right then just to get it back. "Can we please do this damn job and get out of these woods without you being a giant five-year-old?"

Dean chuckled and ducked around a large tree to walk alongside his brother. "Probably not. Come on, you know you wanna bag another chupacabra."

"They're a dime a dozen around here and stupid, and you know it," Sam said angrily and rolled his eyes. "I thought you said they were barely worth ganking."

"They are." Dean shrugged, smiled and managed to 'accidentally' kick a good-sized clod of mud into Sam's path, splattering up his jeans. "Oops. Sorry about that." He grinned when Sam flipped him off. "Just 'cause they're stupid doesn't mean I think we should let 'em keep killin' Farmer Bob's sheep."

"Billy. His name is Billy."

Dean snorted. "That is so not better. Farmer Billy Bob." Sam gave an inarticulate growl and lengthened his stride to get some space between them. "Better," Dean muttered with a smirk and jogged to catch up with him. He reached in front of Sam and slapped the barrel of the rifle his brother had left droop. "That works better when you don't drag it in the dirt."

"Shuddup," Sam grumbled, but he did lift the muzzle of the rifle up.

"Chupacabra takes a bite outta your ass 'cause you ain't payin' attention, I'm gonna laugh." Dean laughed and shrugged. "Fair warning."

"You're such a dick," Sam said under his breath and took a few deep breaths to try and rein his temper in.

Dean chuckled and nodded in silent agreement. He spotted bushes he recognized off to his left and grinned. "Dude. Check it out." He bent and wrapped a hand around one branch, stripping the dark berries as he walked and held up his prize to his brother. "Fox grapes." He popped one in his mouth and smiled with the little burst of over-tart sweetness on his tongue. "There was this chick in…huh…one of the 'C' states…anyway, man, she could bend…"

"Dean."

Dean snorted, stopped by Sam's disgusted use of his name. "Nature chick. Spent a weekend in the woods…practicing yoga positions…" he said with his tongue in his cheek and ate another berry. "…and learning some of the crap you can actually eat in the woods. Here." He held his hand out and Sam knocked it away.

"No thanks," Sam grumbled and rolled his eyes. "You don't even know for sure if those are alright."

"Do too. They're Fox Grapes, dude. Perfectly safe." Dean demonstrated by putting the whole handful in his mouth with a grin. He chewed and bent, stripping another handful from a bush as they passed. "My little brother. Chicken." He sighed when Sam continued to ignore him and put his berry filled hand up in his brother's face. "They taste like grapes! Come on! Live a little, Sammy!"

"It's Sam! Fine!" Sam took the berries from his brother and shoved them in his mouth. "Happy?"

Dean chuckled, nodded and flicked a last berry at his brother's nose. "Got a little something on your face, dude."

Sam swallowed the almost too-tart berries and glared at him. "Will you PLEASE leave me the hell alone? What…" He spun, bringing his rifle up with the sound of something crashing through the underbrush behind them.

"Think the stupid son of a bitch finally decided to come out and play," Dean grinned and stepped past his brother. "You take left." He strode into the underbrush and started whistling like he was calling a dog. "Come're boy! Come on, you stupid, hairless, ugly little bastard. Got some nice hot lead for ya'."

Sam couldn't help the smile that split his face with his brother's words - the familiar, ballsy taunting that Dean fell into because he just plain enjoyed the job sometimes. He watched the trees around them, and then he frowned as it all came clear and Sam realized how stupid he was. Irritation warred with affection as it dawned on him that Dean driving him to shouting today was just his big brother trying to snap him out of his depression…again. "God, I'm an idiot," Sam said softly.

"If the idiot could keep his mind on the job, that'd be nice!" Dean yelled with a grin and then took aim as the chupacabra made its first appearance, skittering from a cluster of bushes and then back into another with a hiss. "Damn thing's fast!"

Sam let off a shot in the creature's direction and heard an angry hiss. "Caught a piece of him."

"Stay there!" Dean swung wide around the clump of trees and bushes where the creature had vanished and circled. "Come on, you little bastard." He scuffed his boots through the leaves, keeping the muzzle of the rifle on the dense thicket and fired the moment two, beady red eyes emerged in a rush as the chupacabra lunged out at him. The sound of the shot faded away as the creature landed dead with a little thump into the leaves, and Dean grinned. "Gotcha! Hey, bring the lighter fluid over here, dude, and let's burn this thing. Bet we can still make that little diner an hour back in time for pie!"

Dean shouldered his rifle and then frowned. "Sammy?" He started back around the trees and heard a new sound, like a wheezing cough. "Sam. What's goin' on?" Dean rounded the trees and found his little brother on his knees. "Sam!" He was at his side in an instant and took Sam's shoulders, trying to get a look at him. "What's wrong? Talk to me!"

Sam felt his throat closing, making it harder to breathe and couldn't find the air to explain to Dean that his stomach was cramping, his head spinning, and his chest felt as though it were trying to squeeze the life out of him. Not to mention the fact that it felt like his throat was swelling shut more with each passing second. "Dean," was all he managed and Sam could barely hear his own voice, but that single, forced word seemed to have no trouble communicating his distress. Dean glanced futilely around the clearing looking for any signs of a struggle or anything else that could have hurt Sam. Seeing nothing, he did a quick frantic inventory of his brother, looking for any signs of injury, swearing silently to himself when he found nothing to give him any clue as to what was wrong.

"Alright, take it easy. Hey. I'm right here." Dean wrapped an arm over his brother's shoulders and took Sam's rifle, adding it to his own. "Come on. I don't know what the hell happened, but we're gonna head back, get you some help alright? Whatever's wrong, we'll fix it. You just gotta keep breathin' for me. Come on. Here we go."

Sam let his brother pull him to his feet and tried to contain the panic quickly working its way through him as he struggled just to pull in enough air to remain conscious. "Dea…"

"I know. Stop talkin'." The chupacabra forgotten, Dean pulled his little brother in as fast a walk as he could manage through the dense forest. The heavy foliage had been fun before, giving him plenty of opportunities to irritate Sam, but now it was just in his way and making him curse with every minute it added on to the return trip. Over it all was the increasingly labored wheezing of his little brother's breaths in his ear. "Hang on, Sam. Just…don't you quit on me." He had no idea what could have happened. Sam had only been out of his sight for a minute. He was pretty certain the chupacabra had not gotten anywhere near him, and much as he wanted to press him for answers, getting him safe and breathing was more important. It was obvious that Sam wouldn't be able to answer anyway, so it would have to wait. Yet, Sam was becoming more and more heavy as they walked, driving Dean's fear ever higher.

"Sammy?" Dean stopped and took hold of Sam's face, turning it up so he could see him.

"C…c…can't….sor…sorry." Sam wanted to say more, but there just wasn't enough air left anymore as his eyes closed, and he felt Dean's arms wrap around him as darkness swam in across his vision.

"No, no, no. Sammy?" Dean held him up with a groan of effort. "Ok. Little further, buddy." He bent at the knees and pulled Sam's arm until he had his very not-little brother over his shoulders and started walking again. "No more…working out…for you." He kept Sam's head as close to his ear as he could, listening to each labored breath and counting the seconds in between each like a talisman against them stopping altogether, because that was becoming the terrifying thought that loomed ever larger in Dean's mind. Whatever this was, it was slowly killing Sam in front of him. "No."

Sam woke several times through the hike, each time less incoherent than the last and doing nothing to calm Dean's fears. He nearly sobbed in relief when the Impala's gleaming black roof finally came into view. "There…there she is, Sammy. Gonna be... fine." Dean pulled open the passenger door and lowered his ailing brother as gently as he could into the passenger seat. He closed the door on his unconscious, barely breathing little brother and ran around to the driver's side.

The drive to the nearest hospital was twenty of the longest minutes of Dean's life. Each time Sam's eyes cracked open and searched for him, he suffered and had finally ended up driving with one hand on his brother's neck to keep his face aimed at him, knowing that Sam needed to see him to not completely give in to the panic so clearly visible in face, and Dean spoke softly through the whole of the drive to try and ground him in a litany of nonsense meant to comfort.

Dean threw himself out of the Impala as he parked in front of the emergency room. He ran around the car and pulled his brother out, trying not to let his heart fall at the way Sam's head lolled on his shoulders as he picked him up or the fact that his brother couldn't groan and call him a jerk for carrying him like some wilting bride through the glass doors of the emergency room.

"Help! Somebody help me, please!" Dean shouted and went to his knees under Sam's weight as the calm inside the room was broken with the sound of voices calling and men and women in scrubs converging on them. "He's my brother," Dean gasped as Sam was pulled from his arms and lifted up onto a gurney.

"Sir? Can you tell us what happened?" A woman knelt in front of him and tapped his cheek. "Sir, I'm Doctor Lemm. I need to know what happened." She watched his glazed eyes meet hers and knew she was looking at the first stage of shock if she couldn't head it off. "I need you to talk to me. What's your name?"

"Sam. His name's Sam." Dean struggled back to his feet as Sam was wheeled away, not wanting to lose sight of him.

"Ok, that's good. Now what's yours?" Dr. Lemm steered Dean down the hall after his brother's gurney and stopped him just inside the treatment room. "What happened?" She listened to the vitals being called out behind her and didn't like them one bit.

"Dean. I'm…we were hiking and he just sort of…collapsed." Dean watched the nurses swarm over his brother, cutting his shirts from him and couldn't help but think that Sam was going to be pissed; he liked that tee-shirt. "I don't…I don't know. His breathing's been getting worse, and he passed out and I couldn't…"

"Ok. Alright. We've got him now. Stay right there." Dr. Lemm went to her patient and nodded when her nurse held up an intubation tube. She took it and went to Sam's head as she called out orders and tilted his chin. "Let's get him breathing a little better." She slid the tube into his mouth and scowled. "Dammit. I can't… I can't get in. Give me some more light here."

Dean put a hand over his mouth, watching as they tried to force a tube down his little brother's throat, and his fractured mind just couldn't understand where everything had gone so wrong. He backed up into the wall as they worked and the indecipherable medical jargon flowed around him.

"Damn! This looks like an extreme allergic reaction." Dr. Lemm set the tube aside and leaned down when she saw Sam's eyes flutter. "Sam? Sam, I'm Dr. Lemm, can you hear me?" She looked over at the brother. "Dean, has your brother ever had a reaction like this before?"

Dean shook his head. "No. No, he's not allergic to any…"

"Yes." Sam's voice was a bare, choked whisper.

"Sammy!" Dean rushed to the table and pushed a nurse aside so he could see him. "Sammy?"

Sam met his brother's panicked eyes and tried, even as blackness started to roll back in on him. "J…Jess…sun…sun…"

"Sun-what?" Dean frowned in confusion and palmed the side of his brother's face. "Sammy? Come on." He carded his fingers back through Sam's sweaty hair and silently begged him to stay.

Dr. Lemm leaned over and gently turned Sam's head until she caught his eyes. "Sam. Sunflower?" she asked and he gave her a weak nod before his eyes rolled back in his head. "Well, damn. Ok, Dean, I need you to move back now."

"What the hell do sunflowers have to do with anything? Hey!" Dean argued at being pushed away from the gurney and toward the hall. "What's goin' on?"

"It's an allergic reaction to sunflower seeds. Patty, get me the antihistamine, Dave…" she rattled off instructions, feeling more confident now that she knew what was happening.

"He hasn't eaten sunflower seeds, dammit!" Dean all but yelled and dragged his hands through his hair. "We just…we ate some grapes."

"Grapes?" Dr. Lemm's head jerked up and she looked at him. "What kind of grapes?"

"Fox grapes." Dean shrugged. "Found them in the forest while we were walkin' and ate a couple handfuls. They tasted fine."

Dr. Lemm's mouth fell open and then she shook her head, taking a syringe handed to her and injected it quickly into her patient's arm. "Fox grapes and sunflowers are in the same family. There are a few documented cases of the allergy being triggered by the grapes." She slipped an oxygen mask over Sam's face and watched the monitors for any sign the drug was working. "Now there's one more. Has he eaten anything else today?"

"Uh, no. Not really." Dean looked miserably at his brother, remembering how Sam had pushed food away the same way he had been for days. "He's…it's been a bad year. He wasn't hungry."

"On an empty stomach, that would exacerbate the symptoms. Odds are, his allergy to sunflower seeds doesn't normally do more than upset his stomach." She sighed and rested a hand on the boy's forehead as she looked down at him. "This was just bad luck all around." Dr. Lemm glanced up at the monitors and back down at Sam and smiled. "I think he's going to be alright now."

The press of bodies around his brother's bed slowly dwindled until finally it was just Dean, his brother, and Dr. Lemm. "You sure? He's…he's alright?" Dean took a step forward and was at his brother's side, sliding Sam's hand into his own as he looked down at the deeply shadowed eyes.

"The drugs we've given will counter the effects. He's going to be weak and sore for a few days." Dr. Lemm smiled up at Dean. "He'll have to take it easy, and you need to get him to eat more regularly. Also, no more nibbling berries in the woods."

Dean gave a wavering smile and nodded. "Yeah. Not doin' that again."

"I'll leave you with him. He should wake up soon." Dr. Lemm patted his shoulder. "He's going to be fine, Dean."

Dean nodded again as she left and put his other hand on his brother's head. "I'm sorry, Sammy. Holy…holy crap." Dean groaned and bent until his head rested lightly on Sam's chest over his heart and let the guilt burn through him sickly. "This is all my fault. I'm sorry. I was just…" Dean sighed and shook his head against his brother. "…just tryin' to snap you out of your funk, dude. You know? I was tryin' to help. I'm an idiot. I'm just a… Sammy, I'm sorry. Please wake up and tell me you're ok." He startled when a hand landed in his hair and lifted his head. "Sammy?"

Sam blinked and rolled his head a little so he could see his brother. He was a little fuzzy on what had happened, but he'd clearly heard his big brother apologizing for something and putting himself down, something that never failed to make Sam want to slap him. "M'al…alright." He frowned and pulled his hand from Dean's head, trying to shove the oxygen mask off his face, scowling when Dean grabbed his free hand.

"Nope. Leave it, dude." Dean took hold of his brother's hand and pulled it down. "You, uh…you had an allergic reaction, remember?" Sam gave him a slow nod and Dean smiled sadly. "It was the damn fox grapes. God, I'm so sorry. I didn't know…"

"Not your fault," Sam said softly and coughed, trying to clear his still tight throat. He ignored the ache in his chest that he hadn't felt in over two years and rolled onto his side, into his brother, uncaring for the moment if Dean decided to tease him about being a giant girl…he needed the comfort, and he smiled when his brother's hand slid into its customary position on the back of his neck without a word.

"So, you're allergic to sunflower seeds?" Dean asked and quirked a brow at his brother, leaning down so Sam could see him and trying hard not to smile because his little brother had curled into him for comfort like he used to as a child. "Why didn't I know that?"

"Jess… her mom." Sam coughed and really wanted the mask off his face but knew Dean wasn't going to let him just yet. "Her mom made her this pie…thing. Sunflower seeds, sunflower oil…some other stuff." He shook his head a little and closed his eyes. "Ended up in the E.R. then too." He didn't see the dark look on his brother's face as he continued. "Doctors said it was too much…kicked me over into, uh…anaphylactic shock."

"Jesus." Dean tightened his hand on Sam's neck and hated himself a little for missing what had to have been a terrifying moment for him.

"Wanted you," Sam said softly as sleep stole over him. "Jess tried to…kept askin' for you." He squeezed the hand Dean was still holding and smiled. "Jerk."

Dean sniffed, grateful his little brother didn't choose that moment to look up and see the tears in his eyes. "Bitch," he said softly. Dean hitched a hip up onto the side of the bed, snorting a quiet laugh when Sam curled further around him in his sleep and settled in to wait. He carded his fingers through Sam's hair and sighed. "I gotcha, little brother."

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_The End. _

**Next Up: **Kelisem


	7. Chapter 7 for Kelisem

**Title:** Reader's Special: Fourth Edition - One Shot Reward Fic Collection

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** A collection of 1 Shot Reward Fics for Prompters of my Reader's Special: Fourth Edition. Features many seasons, hurt/limp/awesome/caring!Sam/Dean/John/Bobby See each chapter for specific info for each 1 shot reward fic.

**Author's Note:** The Reader's Special: Fourth Edition was a smashing success! Prompters of the story were offered a One Shot Reward story of their choice. These are they. None of the chapters contained in this collection are connected. Each one is a stand-alone one shot per the Prompters request. Thank you to all of you who prompted the Reader's Special! You were fantastic as always!

**Chapter Info:** For Kelisem - since it has been far too long since we've seen it in the show (and I bet we won't be getting it soon...) How about a prank war :-)

**A/N: **You know, it's the kind of thing you'd think would be easy but sit down and try to think up Winchester worthy pranks on the spot. ROFL Thank goodness for JaniceC678 and the internet. HA! Also…finished another book. Keep your eyes out in the next month or so. :D

This one is set after 8x20 "Pac Man Fever" :D because it couldn't be all Trials-angst all the time or the boys would have collapsed under the pressure. Sam. Dean. Blowing off a little steam Winchester style. Hope you like it!

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

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Dean walked along the hall of the bunker, whistling 'Back in Black' softly as he neared the library and then rolled his eyes when he reached it. Sam was exactly where he'd left him six hours before on his way to bed, bent over the long table with a dusty book under his nose and hair that looked like he'd stuck his finger in a light socket.

"Dude, I told you to get some sleep." Dean stomped into the library and up the few steps to his brother and then stopped with a small chuckle. "Guess you did. Dumbass." Sam was out cold with his face pressed into the book. He reached out a hand to wake him up and then pulled back. "You're just gonna argue with me," Dean said softly. He ran a hand through his hair and then smirked. He pulled the belt of his borrowed robe tighter and left quietly, heading for the kitchen. It had only been days since Charlie had left and his trip through her subconscious thanks to the Djinn still weighed on him. Most of the time, he felt like he was drowning under the weight of what was happening to his brother, and there was a voice in the back of his mind that, no matter how ruthlessly he squashed it down, was convinced he'd be losing his little brother at the end of these trials.

Dean pushed that thought away and turned into the kitchen. It was time they took a day and lightened up a little, especially as they were off the job for the next few days while they healed. He put a hand up to the back of his head and ran his fingers over the neat row of eleven stitches under his hair. It had been a hell of a crack he'd taken when the ghoul had thrown him backwards into the wall. He wished he could remember the rest of that job. All he knew was he'd woken up with a merrily burning, headless ghoul in front of him and a worried-to-death little brother leaning over him. Sam hadn't come out of it unscathed either. The ghoul had damn near torn his left shoulder out of its socket before Sam had managed to get hold of Dean's shotgun and blow its head off.

"And that's another thing I'm gonna kick his ass for," Dean grumbled and bent to open the cupboards under the sink. The sling Sam wasn't supposed to remove for a week had been nowhere in sight. Clearly, his little brother's stubborn streak had made a reappearance. "Whoa." Dean swayed on his knees and slapped a hand out to the counter to stay upright while his head swam. That happened to him a lot in the two days since the ghoul, and he dearly wished it'd go the hell away. He held his head until his vision cleared and reached under the sink, digging through the box there until he found what he wanted. Dean grinned. "Game on, Sammy."

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Sam woke slowly, feeling groggy as he usually did lately when he was lucky enough to fall asleep and stay that way for more than an hour. He cleared his throat and blinked gritty eyes open. He realized he'd fallen asleep at the table with his face in his book and sighed, knowing Dean would never let him hear the end of it if he found him there. "Crap," Sam groaned softly and pulled an arm up to brace himself with… or tried to. He frowned when his arm didn't move. "The hell…" He lifted his head and looked down and realized he couldn't move either arm and had, at some point while he slept, been duct-taped into his chair.

"DEAN!" Sam bellowed and jerked up, trying to dislodge the tape. "Dean, dammit! Not funny!"

Dean's laughter preceded him around the corner, and he had to wipe tears from his eyes with the sight of his brother bouncing and twisting in the chair as he struggled to work the tape loose. "Mornin', Sammy!"

"You jerk!" Sam twisted back and forth and finally managed to get one arm free of the loops of tape wrapped from his shoulders down to his hips, albeit not as tightly as they could have been if Dean had really been really serious about restraining him; even wrapping him in tape, Dean had taken care not to touch his injured shoulder. "When I get outta this…"

"You're gonna put your ass in bed where it belonged in the first place," Dean finished with a grin. He wisely backed up a few steps as Sam started tearing the duct tape away from his shirts and turned a glare at him.

"You keep snickering like that and I'm gonna kick your ass," Sam promised darkly as he finally managed to free himself from the chair. He balled up the torn and tangled duct tape and threw it at his still laughing brother as he stood and then had to stop and clasp a hand around his aching left shoulder.

"Bet that'd feel better if you had it in the damn sling like you're supposed to." Dean raised his hands and kept his distance as Sam came down the stairs and turned into the hall. "Just takin' care of my pain-in-the-ass little brother." He grinned at Sam's angry scowl. Dean knew that look on his brother's face; it promised that Dean had started a war, and he decided right then to hide all the duct tape in the bunker before Sam could wrap him into his bed with it.

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Sam adjusted the sling around his left arm and rolled his head on his shoulders as he walked into the library. He'd actually broken down and taken the painkillers Dean kept leaving for him in a bid to back the burning ache off. He scowled when he heard the door to the bunker open and leaned on the map table as Dean appeared above him.

"Dean. What part of 'no driving with a concussion' doesn't get through your cracked head?" Sam asked sweetly as his big brother came down the stairs.

Dean rolled his eyes when he reached the bottom and held up the grocery bags. "Kitchen doesn't stock itself, dumbass."

"Then next time, tell me and I'll drive." Sam took the bags from him and took a good look at Dean's face. He was a little paler than he should be and sweating. "All those passing headlights set off another headache?"

"Dude," Dean groaned, irritated at having been read so easily. His head was pounding, and the last few minutes to the bunker had been a fight to keep his eyes open and the Impala straight on the road. He'd spent ten minutes just sitting out in the car before coming in so Sam wouldn't see what a dumbass he'd been… obviously, that had been pointless. "I'm good."

"You could have wrecked the car and killed yourself," Sam said seriously and started down the hall toward the kitchen. "Next time, you ask me. I mean it, Dean."

"Yes, mom." Dean snorted and then wrapped a hand over his eyes once Sam was out of sight. "Crap, that hurts."

"Go shower!" Sam called from the hall and headed for the kitchen.

Dean sighed and nodded. Hot water had proven to be a good way to alleviate the pain from the concussion, so long as he was careful to brace himself on a wall and not get dizzy and land on his ass. "Friggin mother hen," he grumbled. He passed the kitchen, looking in and saw his brother emptying the grocery bags onto the counter. "Jolly Ranchers are mine, bitch!"

Sam chuckled and picked up the bag. "Hate these things."

Dean caught the bag when Sam tossed it to him and grinned. "Why you think I buy 'em?" He waved the bag and carried on down the hall to his room. He stopped in long enough to grab some clothes and a towel and then headed for the showers while his head pounded. He wished they had their own showers, but there was something to be said for the bunker's showers. The Men of Letters had been into creature comforts, and each of the four shower cubicles boasted two shower heads and jets down the walls along with a supply of hot water that never seemed to run out no matter how long Sam stood under them.

Dean stripped off his clothes and stepped into one of the cubicles, pulling the sliding door closed. He turned on the water, letting it run nice and hot before he flicked the lever for the shower heads and groaned in bliss as it began to beat on his sore body. He angled his head under one of the streams and let it run over him, soothing the headache that had been pounding there for three days straight. He tipped his face up into the spray and frowned. The water felt wrong, and it smelled like…

"What the fuck?" Dean yelled and pulled his head out from under the spray. He blinked his eyes open and stared in shock as brown water frothed out of the shower heads down onto him with the strong smell of beef soup. "Sammy, you son of a bitch!"

Sam chuckled in the kitchen when he heard Dean's muffled bellow and finished putting away the groceries. He wasn't surprised when, a minute later, Dean stomped into the kitchen. He was wet, dripping from the shower and the towel hitched around his hips was stained brown. "Beef bouillon cubes in the shower heads? Really, Sam?" Sam grinned and ducked away when Dean flung an arm out to try and spray him with beef-flavored water. "I owed you, man."

"Oh, it's on, Sammy," Dean promised darkly and stalked back out of the kitchen with a snarl.

Sam bent over the counter, laughing so hard he was making his own shoulder ache. "Ow, ow, ow…holy crap. Worth it."

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Dean set a tray on the table in the library with a sandwich and bowl of soup for his brother and then looked up in surprise when there was a loud knock from the door into the bunker. "Huh." He turned and grabbed his gun from the table and swayed when the room spun dizzily around him for a moment. "Sh…shit." He waited for his head to settle and climbed the metal stairs up to the entrance. "Who is it?" Dean shouted and then groaned, putting a hand to his head as fresh pain sprang into life, thinking absently that they should probably put in a security camera to screen visitors, since almost no one knew where they were. He listened for an answer and a smile spread over his face when he recognized the very muffled voice. Dean pulled the door open and grinned. "Charlie! What're you doin' back here?"

"Hey, beefcake!" Charlie jumped up and threw her arms around his neck, delivering a solid hug and was surprised when he groaned and staggered back. "Dude! What gives?"

"Concussion." Dean said ruefully and let her feet back down to the floor. "I'm fine. Sam damn near got his shoulder yanked outta the socket. So, to what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Awe, nothin' much. I was in the neigh…" Charlie stopped and leaned into him, sniffing.

"What?" Dean frowned in confusion as she went up on tip-toe and sniffed along his jaw. "Ok, tell me you're not here 'cause you're turnin' into a dog or something."

"Why do you smell like…my Aunt Mary's beef stew?" Charlie looked up at him with raised brows.

Dean snarled and shoved the bunker door closed. "Because my little brother's a dick and doesn't know when to quit while he's ahead."

"Oookay. Doesn't really answer my question, but I'm sensing some fraternal mayhem here." Charlie chuckled and followed him down the stairs. She slapped her hands out to his shoulders and steadied him when he swayed again. "Ok, man. Maybe you should be, like…horizontal or something. You know, bed? Like normal humans who've had their heads bashed in. I'm just sayin'."

"It's fine. I'm fine." Dean reached the bottom and let Charlie go ahead of him. He flicked a lock of her red hair into her face and smiled. "So, what's up?"

"Just wanted to see how my two favorite bros are doing." Charlie smiled and walked up into the library. "Oh, dude! You made soup? I want!"

Dean snorted a laugh and grabbed her arm. "Ok, come on. Kitchen. Sam's in the shower." He glanced down the hall as they walked and smiled. "Should be out anytime now."

"So, is his shoulder really that bad?" Charlie asked, concerned because Sam hadn't looked too hot the last time she saw him and she didn't think the poor guy could take much more.

Dean shrugged and went into the kitchen. "It ain't great. Gotta take him back to the clinic day after tomorrow for a new set of x-rays to make sure he's in one piece." He smiled. "He's whining about it."

"Uh huh." Charlie smirked, sure that Sam was doing anything but whining. The man was a little too good at hiding his pain, she thought, but didn't make the observation aloud. "So. Soup. Make a big…"

"Dean, you DICK!"

Charlie's eyes went wide when Sam's voice echoed through the building and she looked at the other brother. "What did you do?"

Dean just grinned and shook his head, trying very hard not to laugh, but he gave up when his brother came through the kitchen door. "Oh, holy crap. Hey…hey, Sammy."

"Why am I sticky? What the hell'd you do?" Sam demanded angrily and put a hand to his stomach, pulling it away with a faint sucking sound.

"Turn…" Dean had to stop and try to catch his breath from the laughter, but it was hard. "Turn about is fair play, Sammy!" He bent over the counter laughing and shook his head. "Jolly Ranchers…in the shower head. Holy shit, that's awesome. I didn't think that was gonna work!"

Charlie was a bit lost for words for a moment as Sam stood there in the door, all six-feet-four inches of him naked but for a towel tugged haphazardly around his hips. His hair was dripping water but it was stuck to his head and face at odd angles, and even the towel seemed to cling to his skin, outlining his thighs and…other things that Charlie was finally forced to look up and ignore the blush spreading over her face.

"Dude," Charlie started and felt tears gathering in her eyes with the need to laugh. "If I was straight, pretty sure this is where I'd lick you like a lollipop."

Dean lost his attempt at composure with Charlie's words and bent double over the counter, resting his head on his arm as he howled with laughter. It wasn't doing his head any favors as new pain crashed around his skull, but it was just too damn funny.

"Idiot!" Sam flushed from his head down to his toes as he realized he was standing virtually naked in front of Charlie, but then he saw Dean's legs start to wobble and he blew out a breath. "Charlie grab a chair."

"Huh? Why?"

"'Cause my idiot brother's about to laugh himself into unconsciousness. Woop…there…crap." Sam leaped across the kitchen and caught Dean before he could slide off the counter. "There he goes. Chair?"

"Oh, man." Charlie pulled the chair over and held it still so Sam could lower Dean down into it. "He said he was fine!"

Sam smiled at her fondly. "He is. When you get your head knocked around this bad, sometimes it doesn't take much to put you out." He held Dean up and tipped his brother's head back. "It mostly sucks, but it's not dangerous or anything really, long as he doesn't hit the floor and hit his head again. Hey! Dumbass!" Sam tapped his brother's cheek and smiled when Dean's eyes fluttered open. "If you're done playing Sleeping Beauty, think you can amuse Charlie for five minutes while I go fix this and get dressed?"

"Bite me, Sammy," Dean growled and pushed himself up so he was sitting straighter. He was a little humiliated that that had happened again. That made four times now since the initial injury that he'd ended up out cold for one dumb thing or another and it was getting old.

"Just keep an eye on him. Don't let him run with scissors or something." Sam grinned and ducked the rather pathetic punch Dean aimed at him. "I'll be back."

"Hey, Sam, not that I'm not enjoying the…you know…I mean, dude, could that towel BE any smaller?" Charlie waved a hand in the vicinity of his hips and looked studiously up at the ceiling. "But, um…should your shoulder actually look all puffed up and shit like that? Doesn't that hurt?"

"Huh?" Sam looked over and down at his left shoulder and grimaced for the clearly swollen joint. It did hurt, but he hadn't really registered it until just then, now that the adrenaline of being pissed at his brother was wearing off. "It's fine. Back in a few."

"Put the damn sling on!" Dean shouted and then groaned, hunching over his head in the chair.

Charlie put a hand to his shoulder with a smile and shook her head. "Let me guess; you're just fine too?"

"Yep. Peachy. Fine. We're fine all around." Dean gave a soft laugh and pushed up under Charlie's watchful eye. "Was totally worth it. You see the look on his face?"

Charlie couldn't help but laugh as she watched him grab a bowl and start ladling out soup for her from a bit pot. "I dated this girl in…um…Arkansas?" She shook her head. "Alabama? Well, it started with an 'A'. Anyway…"

Dean chuckled under his breath and turned back with the bowl, sliding it over the counter to her. "Here."

"Bonus." Charlie grinned and leaned over the bowl to sniff. "Anyway, this chick. She was like totally smokin'. I mean she made slave Leia look like the ugly step-sister, you know what I mean?" She smiled when Dean just grinned and nodded. "Also…yoga instructor. Dude. Date yoga chicks. Seriously."

"Done that." Dean leaned back and rubbed his knuckles on his shirt.

"Right?" Charlie held up a hand and laughed when Dean gave her a firm high-five. "So anyway, gorgeous and bendy, but holy CRAP she drove me nuts always leavin' her Pokemon crap around my apartment. I mean, Pok-e-suck. Lame." She leaned back and waggled her brows. "So I used to get her back. I crushed up white antacids and put them in her sugar bowl. Dude, it's like mount Vesuvius when that stuff hits hot coffee." She frowned and looked up at him. "It's just possible I'm the reason that relationship didn't last."

Dean laughed and nodded. "You think? Eat already."

Charlie ate some of the soup, making appreciative noises and then raised a brow as she looked at Dean. "So, what exactly started the Winchester war here?"

"I fired the first volley," Dean admitted easily and snorted a laugh. "Duct taped him to his chair while he was sleeping, which I wouldn't have done if the jackass had gone to bed in the first place like I told him, so really, it's all Sam's fault."

Charlie laughed again and shook her head fondly. "Boys will be boys, I guess." She finished her soup by the time Sam reappeared, this time fully clothed and looking less… sticky. "All good, big guy?"

Sam smiled and then turned the expected glare to his brother. "No damage done." He tossed his sling at Dean's face with his good arm. "You want me to wear it so bad, you get it on me."

Dean chuckled and came around the island, watching his brother warily for signs he was going to get punched. When he was sure Sam wasn't planning to murder him, he smiled and moved around him. "Hold still."

Charlie sat back and watched with a small, affectionate smile as Dean gently maneuvered the sling around Sam's shoulder and chest and then eased his brother's arm into it, talking softly to soothe him when Sam hissed with discomfort and dropping a caring hand to the back of his neck for a moment when he was done before moving away again. "You guys are gonna kill me," Charlie said softly and waved a hand at their confused faces when she stood. "Nothing. I gotta jet. I just wanted to check in. I'll come back day after tomorrow." She grabbed Dean in a hug and then turned, being more careful of Sam as she leaned up and placed a kiss on his cheek. "Make sure you're still in one piece when I come back, big guy."

"Yes, ma'am," Sam laughed.

Dean let Sam lead Charlie out, listening to their voices and Charlie's light laugh before the clang of the bunker's door sounded. He left the kitchen and grabbed Sam's arm when he reached the bottom of the stairs. "You. Food. Now."

Sam let his big brother shove him up the library steps and dropped into a chair at the table with a tray of food in front of it. "Are you ever gonna stop mother-henning me?"

"Nope. Deal." Dean sat in the chair across from him and kicked his feet up on the table. "So, we even on this prank war yet?"

"Sure," Sam said with a smile.

Dean's brows rose because that had been way too easy. "Right. Even. War over."

"Yep." Sam gave him another smile and started in on his soup.

Dean groaned and ran a hand over his face. "Oh, I'm gonna regret startin' this shit, aren't I?"

"Yep."

"Son of a bitch."

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Dean emptied his clip into the target and set his gun down. He pulled the protectors off his ears and rubbed at his forehead. The concussion was better, but the sound of his own gun, even through the protectors was enough to set his head pounding again. "Damn." He quickly put his gun up and looked up the stairs leading out of the gun range. It'd been a whole day with no reprisals from his brother for the Jolly Rancher shower and Dean was beginning to twitch. He smirked and started up the stairs because that was likely exactly what his little brother was going for. "Pain in my ass," Dean grumbled as he reached the top of the stairs and headed for the library.

Sam was, as usual, at one of the tables and face-first in yet another heavy book. He glanced up when Dean appeared and raised a brow. "How's your head this time?"

Dean waved a hand dismissively. "Getting better. How's your shoulder, gimp?"

"Better." Sam refused to rise to the bait and leaned back in his chair, careful of his shoulder in the sling that Dean wouldn't let him out of his room without. "This'll come off tomorrow. You watch."

Dean nodded because as fun as it was teasing his brother, he did want him to be fighting fit again… or as close to that as Sam was able to get these days. He took a closer look at his brother and noted that while he was pale, his face was flushed, he was sweating and trying very hard to not look as miserable as he clearly felt. He rolled his eyes and smiled. "I'm gonna make some chili."

"Dean."

"And you're gonna eat it." Dean finished for him and stood. "No arguments. Then you're gonna go lay the hell down because you look like you're about to fall over and I ain't carryin' your gigantor ass."

Sam shook his head and went back to his book. "Whatever."

"Damn right, whatever," Dean shot back and rolled his eyes when Sam smirked at him. "Shuddup, bitch." He left his brother there and headed for the kitchen, detouring for the bathroom. "Stubborn, grumpy, pain in my ass," he grumbled as he shut the door behind him and quickly relieved himself. Dean reached down and flushed the toilet, straightened to zip up his jeans and then staggered back a step as water rushed into the bowl and a flood of soapy suds erupted up out of it to overflow onto the floor and over his feet.

"SAM!" Dean bellowed and spun to open the door. His boots slipped on the soapy linoleum and he went down on his ass in the sudsy tide with a roar of frustration. "Son of a bitch!"

Sam pushed open the bathroom door and the grin he'd worn down the hall listening to his brother turned into howls of laughter. He danced out of the way as the soapy apocalypse started to foam out into the hall and braced his good arm on the wall while he laughed. "Holy…holy crap, Dean!"

"Gonna kill you!" Dean used the door to pull himself back to his feet and stalked out with his boots squeaking at every step. Each little squeak only served to make his brother laugh harder and Dean's glare deepen. "Oh, you think that's funny?"

"Dude, that's…that's…" Sam couldn't speak and had to stop, leaning back to wipe his eyes. "Wow."

Dean squelched off down the hallway to the showers and barely resisted the urge to punch Sam. Only the fact that his little brother was still walking wounded stopping him. "Paybacks are a bitch, little brother," he growled softly.

The next morning, Dean lay in his bed and listened to his brother in the showers. He grinned as he heard each shower turn on in turn, Sam no doubt checking to make sure there weren't any surprises waiting for him, but Dean was far too crafty to use the same gag twice and Sam should know better. He got up and pulled on his sweats and a shirt and headed for the kitchen to make coffee with a cheerful whistle. He was watching the coffee drip slowly into the pot by the time the first shout sounded and pouring his first cup by the time his, once again towel-covered and dripping brother stalked into the kitchen.

"Mornin', Sammy." Dean said and turned with a smile. He snorted into his coffee cup and burst out laughing. Sam's hair was half-covered in shampoo suds and standing out in ridiculous spikes from his head while his brother glared death at him.

"If my hair falls out again…" Sam threatened in a low voice. "What did you put in the shampoo?"

Dean started laughing and set his coffee down before he spilled it. "Icy hot. Bet that's a nice warm feelin' you got goin' there."

"You ass!" Sam ducked around him to the sink and turned the faucet on. He ducked his head under it and started scrubbing his hair furiously to get it out. He managed to get his uncooperative left arm up to help, grimacing against the burn. "You suck!"

Dean stifled his laughter and moved up next to his brother. "Ok. Ok. Don't get your panties in a bunch, princess."

Sam stomped on Dean's foot next to his once and then resigned himself to letting Dean work the crap out of his hair. His left arm wasn't doing him much good and he eased it back down and held it across his chest while Dean worked. "Shit burns, dude."

Dean snorted and nodded. "Yep. I had to wash soapy toilet water off me, dude. There had to be payback. We done now?"

Sam glared at the bottom of the sink and slammed his eyes closed as the water threatened to run into his eyes, finally huffing out a disgusted breath. "Fine. Yeah. Truce."

"Good." Dean grinned and gave his brother's head another rinse. "How's it feel now?"

"Less burning." Sam leaned up and snagged the dishtowel from the counter with his good arm to rub it over his head. He moved away toward the door and then grimaced. "Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean picked his coffee up again and looked over at his little brother, satisfied that he'd had the last word.

"Uh, I mean it. I'm done. Seriously." Sam smiled and backed out the door. He hitched the towel on his hips higher and gave his brother a crooked smile. "But, uh…I didn't know that before I… well, before you woke up this morning."

Dean scowled and lowered his coffee. "Sammy, what'd you do?"

Sam couldn't help the laugh and waved the dish towel at the cabinets. "Check the cupboards. Oh, crap."

"You messed with my kitchen?" Dean asked in disbelief. He went to the cupboard Sam had pointed at and wrenched the doors open. He stared in open-mouthed disbelief at the rows of shiny silver cans… all with their labels torn off. "Are you kidding me?"

Sam burst into laughter and raised his hands in defeat. "I'm sorry. I can probably figure out what's what again."

"Sammy, you bitch! We're gonna have mystery meals for a month because you had to River Tam this shit?"

Sam's laughter stopped on a gasp and he stared at his big brother as a grin split his face. "You did watch it!"

"What?" Dean took out a few of the cans and thumped them angrily down on the counter.

"I KNEW you watched Firefly!" Sam crowed and laughed again. "Can't deny it now!"

Dean stared and then rolled his eyes. He couldn't help but start laughing as well and nodded. "Fine. Yes. I watched it, ok?" He pointed a finger at his brother. "I'm tellin' you, dude. All those Fox execs? Demon possessed. Why the hell else would you kill that show after one season?" He grinned at his brother's laughter and shrugged. "Mal's bad ass, Sammy. Hell, yes, I watched it." Dean cocked his head when he heard a muffled banging from the front of the bunker and grinned at Sam again. "That's probably Charlie. Said she was comin' back today. Go put some pants on before she has to look at your ass again."

Sam laughed all the way back to his room and dressed as quickly as he was able with his shoulder. He picked up his sling and went back out to find Dean and Charlie both chuckling in the kitchen. "Hey, Charlie."

"Big guy!" Charlie came over and slipped her arms around his waist for a hug. She grabbed the sling out of his hand when she pulled back and grinned up at him as she eased it up his bad arm for him. "Dean's cracked, man. Zoe was so the better bad ass on Firefly."

Sam chuckled and allowed Charlie to help him get his arm in the sling. "Think she's right, Dean. Can't see Mal pulling off all that ass-kicking in a corset."

Dean rolled his eyes with a chuckle. "Whatever, dude. Come on." He looked at his watch and raised a brow at Sam. "We leave now, we can just make it in time." He looked over at Charlie and patted a hand on her shoulder. "You stickin' around?"

"Yeah. I wanted to check a couple things in the awesome library." Charlie smiled and gave both men a push toward the door. "Also deplete your coffee supply a little."

Sam chuckled and let them herd him toward the stairs. "You guys are ridiculous, you know that?"

Charlie saw them off, waving and closed the door behind them. She grinned and clapped her hands together. "Time to get busy."

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Dean parked the Impala in front of the bunker and smirked over at his brother. "Dude, lighten up."

"Nope," Sam said grumpily and pushed his door open. The sling on his left arm had graduated to bandages wrapping it and strapping it across his chest. He'd irritated the joint over the last week and the doctor had not been happy with him. "This sucks."

"I know." Dean felt guilty as hell. He knew it was their prank war that had done the damage, and while Sam had gleefully participated, he'd started the whole thing. "Come on." He came around the passenger side of the car and gave Sam a steadying hand as he stood up.

"Hey, guys!" Charlie came out of the bunker and jogged up to meet them. She frowned with concern when she saw Sam. "Uh, thought you were gonna lose the whole broken wing look today?"

"He overdid things a little this week," Dean said and ran a hand through his hair ruefully. "Prank war might've had something to do with it."

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes, taking pity on his brother. "It's fine. I should have been more careful."

"You guys are like, way too jeopardy-friendly, you know that right?" Charlie smiled and gave Sam a careful hug before turning and giving Dean one hard enough to squeeze his ribs.

Dean returned it warmly and smiled. "You leavin' already?"

"Yep. Got some gamin' to do." Charlie grinned. "There's this little punk in Venezuela who thinks he can school me in Halo." She snorted and rolled her eyes. "Dude's gonna be cryin' in his Red Bull by morning."

"Give 'em hell, Charlie." Dean laughed and let her go.

"Peace out, bitches." Charlie started up the road toward her car and turned back, red hair flying to grin at them. "Hey! You guys ever want lessons from the master, just let me know!"

"Huh." Sam followed Dean toward the bunker and looked after Charlie curiously. "What'd that mean?"

"Who knows with her. She keeps life interesting." Dean said fondly and unlocked the bunker door. "In you go, gimp." He followed Sam down the stairs and bumped into his back at the bottom. "Dude! Move it!"

"Oh… my God." Sam breathed and took a few hesitant steps forward as his eyes went wide and his mouth fell open. "Dean."

"What? What's…" Dean moved around Sam and gaped in open shock. "Holy crap!" The entire war room and, as Dean moved further in to peer around the corner, the library as well had been covered in aluminum foil. Every table, every chair, even the books and table lamps glittered in the overhead lights. In the two hours they'd been gone, Charlie had been busy. Dean started laughing and heard Sam joining in behind him. "Dude. We just got schooled."

Sam laughed and walked up the stairs into the library. He bent over the nearest table and laughed even harder. "Dude! She… she even wrapped my pens!"

Dean walked over to the weapon display in the corner and had to wipe tears from his eyes. "She wrapped the friggin swords, dude!"

Sam dropped into a chair, giving another loud bark of laughter when the foil crinkled as he sat and shook his head. "Oh, man. This is…are we sure she's not, like, a long lost Winchester cousin or something?"

Dean shook his head and pulled a foil wrapped book off the shelf. "She's definitely one now, dude." He couldn't stop laughing when he saw even the legs of the tables and chairs had been wrapped.

"Yeah. Yeah, she is." Sam leaned back and grinned around the shiny, silver room then looked over at his brother with a raised brow. "We're gonna get her back, right?"

"Well, duh. Can't let her get away with this!" Dean thumped a fist into the table, grinning as the foil tore. "She's definitely a Winchester now."

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_The End. _

**Next up: **Jaden Grace1


	8. Chapter 8 for Jaden Grace1

**Title:** Reader's Special: Fourth Edition - One Shot Reward Fic Collection

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** A collection of 1 Shot Reward Fics for Prompters of my Reader's Special: Fourth Edition. Features many seasons, hurt/limp/awesome/caring!Sam/Dean/John/Bobby See each chapter for specific info for each 1 shot reward fic.

**Author's Note:** The Reader's Special: Fourth Edition was a smashing success! Prompters of the story were offered a One Shot Reward story of their choice. These are they. None of the chapters contained in this collection are connected. Each one is a stand-alone one shot per the Prompters request. Thank you to all of you who prompted the Reader's Special! You were fantastic as always!

**Chapter Info:** For Jaden Grace1 - Uh, I would like something preseries, maybe Sam getting frustrated with John leading to John punishing Sam with an extra harsh punishment. Despite this, when the big bad comes along Sam sacrifices himself to save John and Dean. Enter angsty!hero!dean and angsty!guilty!john and of course plenty of hurt!sam (emotional, physical, the whole shebang)

**A/N: **Sam 13/Dean 17 some terrible teens for Sam I think. Hope you enjoy this! Lots of angst in this one. Lol

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

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John Winchester slammed his empty coffee cup down on the counter and turned a glare on his youngest son. "Sam, it's not happening and that's final!"

"No, it's not!" Sam yelled and threw off the hand Dean put on his arm. "I'm trying out for the team and you can't stop me!"

"Sammy." Dean tried to rein his little brother in, but he was in full-on, pissed-at-Dad mode and there was no stopping him, Dean knew.

"Soccer is not more important than your training, Sam!" John turned and stalked across the kitchen to tower over him.

"It's normal, Dad! Kids do things like play soccer and I wanna be a normal kid, dammit!" Sam shouted up at him and wished for the hundredth time that he was taller.

"Don't you cuss at me, Sammy!" John shouted back. "We save lives! We are not gonna stop until we find the thing that killed your mother and destroy it, and you wanna kick a damn ball around a field?"

"Dad!" Dean finally moved in front of Sam when his father reached out angrily for him. "It's just soccer. It's like, what, a couple times a week or something?" He smiled, trying to defuse the fight before it got any worse. "I can make sure he keeps up with his training and still has time to…"

"No, Dean!" John stalked a few steps away to restrain the urge he had to lash out. His anger was a touchy beast and was usually why he left his boys alone and drank elsewhere; he didn't entirely trust himself some nights… or right at that moment, if he was perfectly honest with himself. Ever since Sam had hit puberty, his long-held tendency to argue and resist John's directives had gotten ten times worse, and he had become more persistent and vocal about it. It was all John could do sometimes to keep from physically shaking him into submission and he could feel he was reaching his limit now. He turned back angrily and glared at both his sons. "I am not letting something as pointless as soccer distract either one of you and get you killed because you weren't prepared! You understand me? Now we have a damn job to do! Sam, go change and get ready. Dean, go pick up that ammo I told you to get a half hour ago. Now, Dean!"

Dean wavered and then gave in to the look on his father's face. He turned and took Sam's shoulders, giving him a push out of the kitchen. "Go on, Sammy. Go change. I'll be back soon." He waited until Sam walked sullenly down the hall and fixed his dad with a stern look of his own before grabbing his jacket and leaving.

John tossed his coffee mug in the sink, not caring when the handle chipped off against the rusted metal. He scrubbed his hands over his face and growled when he heard a bad-tempered thump from the boys' room. "That's it, Sammy. I've had enough of this crap."

Sam pulled his jeans up and kicked the leg of his bed, thumping it into the wall. "Dammit." He pulled on his hoodie, a hand-me-down from Dean and spun when the door to his room burst open. "What, Dad? I'm getting dressed. I am dressed, ok?"

"You will watch your mouth with me, son," John growled angrily.

"Whatev…hey!" Sam yelled when his father grabbed his arm. "Dad, lemme go! Stop!"

"Yellin' at you obviously isn't teaching you respect, Sam, so we're gonna try something different." John turned his youngest and bent him over the bed, holding him down with a hand on his back while Sam struggled. He used his other hand to slide his belt out of his pants, folded it in half and raised it up. "Stop fighting me!"

Sam yelped with the first strike of his dad's belt on his backside. "Dad!"

John's anger burned through him as he landed slap after loud slap on Sam's backside with the belt. The crack of leather on denim filled the room along with the sound of Sam's shocked voice in yips of pain. Finally, John stopped and stepped back, breathing heavily as the first, sick curl of guilt began to worm its way into his stomach. "Next time you wanna mouth off to me, Sammy, you think about this and then you don't, you hear me?" His only reply was Sam's tears muffled into the blanket on the bed. "Finish getting ready and get your ass out there. Dean'll be back soon and we're going."

Sam waited until he heard the bedroom door close before he slowly slid off the bed onto his knees and winced. Tears coursed down his face and he hiccupped sobs into his own hands. He moved to stand and whimpered when the back of his jeans rubbed against the small of his back where some of his dad's higher strikes had landed. Sam used shaking hands to tuck his tee shirt in and got to his feet. It was hardly the first time his dad had used physical punishment, but it was the first time he'd ever used his belt, and Sam… he felt like he was in shock. He pulled his jacket from the bed and dragged it on and then used the blanket to wipe his face. He couldn't let Dean know. Sam didn't even want to consider how bad the fight would be if his big brother found out what had just happened. There was really only one time Dean ever stood up in opposition to their father and that was for him.

"P-pull it together," Sam whispered to himself and bent carefully to drag his backpack out from under the bed. He shouldered it just as he heard the front door bang open and took a few deep breaths to try and calm himself. It hurt and he wanted to curl up and cry, but he had to protect Dean now. His big brother was there at the end of the hall when Sam opened the bedroom door and Sam dropped his eyes.

"Hey, squirt. You good?" Dean asked softly as Sam came down the hall. He narrowed his eyes, looking down at his little brother and stopped him in the door with a hand on his shoulder. "Sammy… you ok?"

Sam nodded and moved past him. "Yeah. I'm good. Let's just do this, alright?"

Dean's frown deepened. He knew that sound in Sam's voice; it meant he'd been crying and hard. "Sammy?"

"Let's go!" John called and came out of the kitchen. He eyed Sam, relieved to see that his youngest seemed to have calmed, and yet he swallowed hard when he realized Sam wouldn't meet his eyes. He shook himself and picked up his bag, pushing it away for later. "Move it, boys."

Dean watched his brother from the corner of his eye through the drive and every second that went by, he knew more and more in his gut that something had happened while he was gone. "Sam, talk to me."

"About what?" Sam asked softly and had to fight the urge to change position and get his aching backside off the seat. Every bump was like an insult to the already inflamed flesh, and each time Dean looked at him, tears threatened to fall. "Nothin' to talk about, Dean."

Dean scowled and followed their dad's truck, turning when he did. He glanced over at Sam again and could see it in every hunched line of his brother's body, the need Sam had to curl into him for comfort and that he was fighting it for whatever damn reason. "Just… you know you can tell me anything, right? I mean anything, dude."

Sam nodded and kept his mouth closed. He didn't trust himself to speak. They pulled up in front of the apartment building and parked and he waited for Dean to get out and vanish behind the truck before pulling himself out of the car. He was stiff and worked to move more naturally, lest Dean figure out he was hurting. Sam didn't look up when his father strode up next to him.

"Now you remember the plan." John looked down at Sam and hastily away, meeting Dean's green eyes in the lamplight. "We go floor by floor. The bones are in there somewhere. Find them. Salt and burn them. You boys go up and start at the top. Sam, watch your brother's back."

Dean stared between his brother and his father at Sam's muffled and meek 'yes, sir'. "He always does, Dad." Dean looked up at his father and scowled. "And I always watch his."

"No screwing around up there," John ignored the implicit warning and turned away. "No one gets hurt on this job."

"Right." Dean reached out and held out a long, iron rod to his brother. "Sammy."

"Thanks." Sam closed a hand around the cold metal and turned away so Dean could stuff lighter fluid and salt into his backpack.

"You sure you're alright, buddy?" Dean zipped the backpack closed and pulled Sam around by one shoulder. "Sam…"

"It's fine, Dean. Come on, before he yells at us for dragging our asses." Sam took off after their dad.

"Dammit." Dean walked quickly after his brother and resisted the urge to drop an arm down on his shoulders and pull him in. He got the feeling that Sam wasn't up for being taken care of just then, and that bugged him along with everything else. He'd figure it out eventually, even if he had to corner Sam alone once they got home to do it.

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Dean pulled his head around when he heard his father's voice call out. He pointed a finger at Sam to stay where he was and jogged to the stairwell. "Not up here, dad!"

"Make sure you've checked everything then get down here and help me look!"

"Yes, sir!" Dean turned back and blew out a breath. They'd searched the top three floors with no luck; not one sign of the bones they needed to burn. Meanwhile, the spirit attached to them had killed seven people between the building they were in now and a little library on the other side of town. "You see anywhere else up here we might've missed?"

Sam shook his head. "No. Has to be on the next floor down."

Dean nodded and let Sam go ahead of him down the stairs. He wasn't an idiot. It'd only taken him five minutes or so of watching his little brother move while they searched to see that the kid was walking funny, like he was stiff… or in pain. Sam stubbornly avoided every question Dean threw at him, determined to keep whatever had happened to himself.

"Stop starin' at me," Sam said grumpily as they trooped down the stairs. He moved aside at the bottom and let Dean take the lead.

"I would if you'd tell me what the hell's wrong already." Dean gave him a glare and instantly felt guilty when Sam's eyes dropped. "Hey, we're good, ok?" He put a hand to his little brother's shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

"I know. Come on." Sam gave his brother a push ahead when he heard their dad calling. He didn't want to anger him again.

Dean reached over and put a hand on Sam's back and scowled when his brother hissed in pain and jerked away. "Alright, that's it! Come're."

"Dean, no! Don't…" Sam tried to twist away but wasn't quick enough to stop his brother yanking his shirts up in the back and then Dean went still. Sam hung his head. "It's alright."

"This…" Dean stared down at the red marks he could see above the waist of Sam's jeans, several of which continued down under the fabric, and shook his head. "This is not alright, Sammy." His voice was low and filled with barely-contained rage, but his fingers were gentle as he brushed them lightly over the highest mark at the small of Sam's back. They were roughly the width of his father's belt. Dean swallowed hard and let Sam's shirts fall back. He took his brother's shoulder and turned him so he could look into his misery-filled eyes. "Sam."

"I…I pissed him off." Sam spoke softly through a throat tight with emotion. Now that Dean knew, the tears were becoming almost impossible to hold back, especially with Dean's warm hands on his shoulders offering the comfort he'd wanted so badly. "He… I kicked the bed and… I knew he was already pissed and I was just making it worse. I…"

"If you say you deserved this…just don't, ok?" Dean impulsively grabbed Sam and pulled him in against his chest, holding on tight and lowered his head down into Sam's hair. "Knew I shouldn't have left when I did. I'm sorry, buddy." He curled his arm more tightly over Sam's shoulders when he felt his breaths hitch into his chest. "It's gonna be ok and… it's never gonna happen again, Sammy. I promise."

"Dean! Sam! Hurry up!" John's voice echoed through the hall.

Dean lifted his head to look down the corridor in the direction their dad's voice had come from and the look on his face was contained danger. He smoothed it carefully away and gently pushed Sam back so he could see his face. "Hey." Dean brushed tears from his brother's cheeks and smiled for him. "You hang on 'til we finish this, ok?"

Sam nodded and took several deep breaths, sucking the tears back with difficulty. "I'm ok."

"I know you are." Dean gave him another second and squeezed his shoulder. "You stay behind me and watch my back."

"On it," Sam said in a rough voice and smiled up at his big brother for the trust Dean had in him.

Dean strode down the hall, alert for any sign of the pissed off spirit and seething with anger at his father. They were going to have words over it, and if Dad needed to take a belt to someone, it'd damn well be him rather than his little brother. "Dad?" Dean called and knew there was anger in his voice, but he couldn't hide it completely.

"Here!" John leaned out of the door and saw his sons coming up the hall. "Some sort of old convention hall or something in here." He waited until they reached him and walked back inside. "I couldn't get in through the doors on the floor below and the stairs are gone, but I think we can climb down." He moved across the open space, through a jumble of discarded chairs and tables and pointed over the side. "Bones are right down there."

"Great. Good. Let's do it." Dean moved over to where the stairs used to be and gave his little brother a look, silently telling him to hang back. Sam gave him a short nod and Dean smiled.

John looked at his eldest curiously. There'd been an odd tone in his voice, almost dismissive, and it bothered him. "Dean? What's goin' on?"

"Later," was the terse response in a tone John was not used to hearing from his eldest, and he frowned slightly but let it go. Dean found the top of the collapsed stairs and nodded. "Hey, Sammy. You got that rope in your pack?"

"Yeah." Sam swung his backpack off his shoulders and opened it. He pulled out the rope and tossed it to Dean, keeping his gaze studiously away from his father. He wasn't sure he could look at him again just yet, not with the tears still so close to the surface.

Dean caught it and gave him another smile. "Thanks, squirt." He uncoiled the length and tied it off to the banister at the top of the stairs and then threw the rest over the side. "Ok. You wanna go first, Dad?"

John watched them for a second, looking between his sons and then sighed, "Sure." He tucked the iron rod he carried through a loop of his belt, trying and failing to not hear the small hiss of indrawn breath from Sam behind him, and then he saw the look on Dean's face and his stomach rolled. Dean knew. It was a little jarring to realize in that moment that he didn't feel like the father; he felt like an outsider who'd committed a crime and then thought, with a little spurt of shock, maybe he was. He froze, hanging out over the drop with his hands on the rope and looked up at his eldest. "Dean…"

"You really don't wanna start this with me right now," Dean snarled and had to work to rein his temper back in when his father scowled. "Aren't you the one always sayin' keep your head in the game, Dad?" They locked eyes for a moment, each feeling certain boundaries slipping and shifting ever so slightly. John realized with a start that he was getting a glimpse of the inner strength of the man his oldest son was on the verge of becoming.

Sam watched them from across the room, able to hear their voices but not what they were saying and groaned. The tension across the back of Dean's shoulders told him they were talking about what Dad had done. He opened his mouth to tell them to stop and froze. Between him and his family, an apparition began to form. They were too focused on each other, his dad and Dean. They didn't realize, and it was too close. Sam watched the spirit take form and turn to his family menacingly, raising pale arms over Dean's unprotected back and that broke his paralysis

"Dean!" Sam ran at the spirit with his iron rod raised. The ghost turned to look at him as Sam swung the rod down into it. Sam felt a power pick him up and yelped in surprise as he went flying. He saw the ghost dispersed, his brother and his dad's fearful faces turned towards him, and then he was sailing over the railing to the floor below.

"Sammy!" Dean shouted and lunged to the railing.

"Sam!" John dropped his feet from the rail and slid down the rope, heedless of the burns to his hands as he dropped. He hit the floor in a rush and turned to find his youngest crumpled on his side. "Sam? No, no, no. Come on, tiger." John spoke softly as he brushed Sam's dark hair from his face and gently turned him over into his lap.

Dean followed his dad down, all but shaking with the need to reach his little brother. He slid to his knees beside them and then reached. He pulled Sam out of his father's arms and into his own, cradling him against his chest as he looked at their dad fiercely. "You don't get to touch him right now, you got me?" Dean glared at his father over his little brother.

John was stunned at the level of contained violence in Dean's tone and the very clear threat. He had known Dean was protective of Sam, obviously, but had never felt the fierceness of that commitment now radiating off his oldest in waves. He nodded and let Dean hold his brother. "I'll… I'll take care of the bones before he comes back."

"You do that." Dean looked down at Sam, dismissing his dad's presence and cradling his little brother's face in a hand. There was a bump already starting to appear high on Sam's temple, but at least there was no blood.

John moved away and collected Sam's backpack from where it had landed on its own a few feet away. He looked down at his sons and hated himself a little. What the hell had he done?

"Sammy," Dean said softly and hitched his brother higher against his chest while their dad moved away. "Wake up, buddy. Come on, wake up for me, ok?" Sam was breathing, which helped calm him slightly, and he could see his brother's pulse beating strongly in his thin neck. Not for the first time, it struck Dean how small Sam was for his age. He always looked even smaller to Dean like this… hurt. It made him want to bundle Sam up in the Impala and drive off so he could protect him, take him back to before his little brother knew about any of this evil crap. "Sam."

"How is he?" John asked as he dumped salt over the bones and grabbed the lighter fluid.

"Not wakin' up," Dean said angrily. He gathered Sam in against him and slid an arm under his knees before getting to his feet. He looked around the room and spotted a door at the back. A cabinet had been wedged against it, no doubt why his dad hadn't been able to get in that way. Dean walked toward it with Sam in his arms and looked over his shoulder. "You gonna finish that so I can get him outta here?"

Any other time, John would have firmly slapped Dean down for speaking to him that way, but he couldn't lie to himself; today, he deserved it and worse. "Thirty seconds." He squirted lighter fluid over the bones and then dug a book of matches out of his pocket. The temperature dropped suddenly and John watched his breath come out in a cloud. "No you don't, you son of a bitch." He lit the matches and dropped them onto the bones just as the spirit appeared again with an angry howl. John watched in satisfaction as the ghost was swallowed in flames and burst apart. Then he was grabbing up Sam's pack and running after his sons. "Get back."

Dean nodded and moved aside, letting his dad put a shoulder to the cabinet. He could have put Sam down and helped, he knew. It was safe now. The ghost was gone, but he couldn't convince himself to do it. He'd already left Sam on his own once today and his little brother had paid the price for it. Dean wasn't about to let that happen again. "He saved us."

"I know," John said and braced his foot against the wall as he growled with effort and pulled the cabinet down. It crashed to the floor and he shoved it aside. John reared back and kicked the door. It burst open in a hail of splinters and dust. "Ok, go. Let's go."

"We're going to a hospital," Dean told his father in a tone that brooked no argument.

John simply nodded his assent and followed Dean's fast steps to the stairs and back down to the street. He'd screwed up about as badly as it was possible to without one of his boys ending up dead, and that, only out of sheer luck.

Dean didn't bother asking if his dad wanted to drive. He went to the Impala and eased into the driver's seat, sliding Sam in so his brother's head rested in his lap. "You can meet us there," he said to his dad as he pulled his door closed, started the car and took off.

"Fuck," John groaned. He went to his truck and then, rather than getting in, let his head thump into the door. "What was I thinking?"

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Dean looked up over his brother when the door to Sam's hospital room opened and their dad came in. He gave him a hard look and then went back to carding his fingers through Sam's shaggy hair. "He's gonna be fine. Concussion, some bruises." He flicked an angry glance at his father. "Had to tell them bullies took a belt to him at school. Didn't want 'em callin' in CPS. Not sure they believed me."

John nodded and sat in the chair beside the bed. He wasn't sure the sick feeling in his gut would ever leave. "Has he woken up yet?"

Dean shook his head. "He will. Soon. He's workin' on it."

"Good." John didn't doubt that Dean knew his brother was close to waking. The connection his sons had to each other was strong and often didn't need words for them to have whole conversations. Sometimes he felt left out and others… other times he thanked Mary or God or whatever else might be listening that at least his boys had each other. "Dean…"

"It never happens again," Dean whispered and looked up at his dad again finally. "Sammy pisses you off and you gotta hit somethin', you come to me." Dean put his chin up defiantly and stared his dad down. "You don't ever raise a hand to him like that again. Never, Dad."

John nodded solemnly. "I won't. Dean, I'm sorry." It hurt to realize he was going to have to work to regain the trust of his own sons but he deserved it; he'd done it to himself.

"Don't tell me. Tell him. Hey, Sammy." Dean's dour expression cleared for a smile as he leaned in over his little brother and watched Sam's eyes slowly flutter open.

"Dean?" Sam blinked a few times to clear his blurry vision and smiled in relief when his brother's face crystalized and smiled at him. "You alright? Dad?"

Dean's smiled softened and he rested a hand in his little brother's hair. "Yeah, buddy. We're good. You saved our asses. Next time, maybe try it without the Flying Walenda act, huh?"

Sam gave a short, soft laugh and closed his eyes. "You watch…too much late night tv."

John swallowed against the shine of tears in his eyes for his boys and stood to lean over Sam and take his hand in his. "Sammy." He felt the slightest flinch from his youngest son and tried not to let it gut him. "Hey, tiger." John smiled when Sam's eyes opened again. He squeezed his hand more tightly in his own. "Sam, I… I'm sorry. I stepped outta line today. I lost my temper and it shouldn't have happened." He nodded when Sam looked at him in surprise; an apology from John Winchester was a rare thing. "It won't happen again. Promise, Sammy."

Sam nodded and managed a small smile of forgiveness for his father, not looking away this time when his father's gaze caught his own. All Sam could see was sincerity and regret, and under that something deeper that Winchester men never said out loud if they could help it. He turned his head back to Dean, rolling it into Dean's hand and closed his eyes. "Tired."

"Go back to sleep. I'll be right here." Dean eased a hip onto the side of the bed and rested a hand on his brother's shoulder. He glanced over at his dad's face, easily reading the emotions there and sighed. If Sam could forgive, he'd just have to try as well. "You know, coffee would be nice, Dad."

John looked up in surprise and then coughed to clear his suddenly tight throat. "Yeah. It, uh… probably have to bust out of here in a few hours when no one's looking. I'll, uh… I'll be back." He set Sam's hand down on the bed and then touched Dean's shoulder briefly in thanks before he left.

"I got you, little brother," Dean said softly as he watched Sam sleep. "Nothin's gonna happen to you while I'm around. I promise."

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_The End. _

**Next Up:** Becksupernatural


	9. Chapter 9 for Becksupernatural

**Title:** Reader's Special: Fourth Edition - One Shot Reward Fic Collection

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** A collection of 1 Shot Reward Fics for Prompters of my Reader's Special: Fourth Edition. Features many seasons, hurt/limp/awesome/caring!Sam/Dean/John/Bobby See each chapter for specific info for each 1 shot reward fic.

**Author's Note:** The Reader's Special: Fourth Edition was a smashing success! Prompters of the story were offered a One Shot Reward story of their choice. These are they. None of the chapters contained in this collection are connected. Each one is a stand-alone one shot per the Prompters request. Thank you to all of you who prompted the Reader's Special! You were fantastic as always!

**Chapter Info:** For Becksupernatural - I would like you to set the story either in season 1/2 or 8 :) So, in many fics i've read i found sentences like 'and if it wasn't for dean, he (sam, of course) would have gone right back down', so i was wondering if you could write what would happen to sam if dean isn't there to catch him every time he falls? Maybe you could somehow even let dean be there, watching but unable to touch and help...

**A/N: **I went with season 2 on this one. After 2x03 "Bloodlust". This one… sort of had a life of its own and Dean decided he wanted to tell the story, or most of it, so here you are. LOL I hope this is what you were looking for! :D

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

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Dean closed his eyes and tried to decide just when he'd lost control of this job so badly; where had he gone so horribly wrong? He sucked in a breath and opened his eyes again. Raising his head to look down at himself took a monumental effort of will and he groaned softly as he looked down his body. Sammy's gonna kill me, he thought to himself and then gave a wet chuckle as he let his head drop back to the floor. He'd have to live long enough for that first.

"Still with us, Winchester?"

Dean coughed softly and rolled his head over. Black boots walked across the scuffed, wooden floor and stopped next to him. Dean let his eyes drag up the man's body until he could glare at the shifter's face. "S…screw…screw you."

"Be nice."

Dean grunted when one of the man's booted feet slammed into his ribs and rolled on his side to try and protect himself.

"Get him up."

"Ah he… hell," Dean gasped when the other two shifters appeared and dragged him to his feet. The motion nearly cost him his hold on consciousness, and he spent a few dizzying moments with the room spinning before the shifter who'd spoken grabbed his jaw in a tight grip.

"You're not dead yet." The shifter grinned with the borrowed face of the man they'd been trying to save.

Dean figured his little brother would be suffering over this one, wherever he was, and he truly hoped Sam was nowhere near this mess. "More… more beating?" Dean smirked and spat a gob of blood at the shifter's feet. "Think I got… gotta a couple rib… ribs you missed."

"You're awful cocky for someone who's going to be swimming in his own blood when I'm done." The shifter smiled and stepped back.

Dean watched him pull a short, slim knife from his sleeve and rolled his eyes. "Call that a kni… knife?"

"Size isn't everything, Dean." The shifter smirked and put the point of the blade to the inside of Dean's elbow. "Oh, hold him still already," he growled when Dean weakly tried to jerk his arm free. "Bet you're still kicking yourself for not realizing there was more than one of us at work here, huh?" He pulled the blade down Dean's left forearm and smiled when the man shouted in pain and blood welled to drip to the floor. "I want you to know I'm being careful to not hit the artery."

"M'I supposed to… s'posed to thank you? Asshole," Dean groaned as his legs gave out and only the shifters holding him kept him on his feet. His arm burned with fresh pain, and the feel of his blood flowing and dripping made his skin itch.

"You should." The shifter moved to Dean's other arm and flicked the point of the knife into Dean's wrist. "After all, I did make your little brother a promise."

Dean went still with shock and pulled his head up to glare death at the creature. "Where… where is he? Where's my brother, you son'fa bitch!" He shook his head and got his feet back under him as well as he could. "No… no, you're… screwin' wi'me."

"Dean. I'm crushed." The shifter took Dean's jaw in his hand again and jerked his head up. "When have I lied to you? Or did you think I was off cleaning my nails of your blood while you were lying on the floor? No." He leaned in and grinned at the look of slowly dawning fear moving across the hunter's face. "I was spending a little quality time…" He grinned. "…with Sammy."

Dean stared in renewed horror as the door on the other side of the room opened and a shifter wearing Dean's own face walked in with a smile. "No, no, no. Don't… don't do this."

"Already done, Dean, and I have to say," The first shifter clicked his tongue and shook his head. "Sammy did not react well to my son, there. Has a little shifter PTSD, does he?"

"Shuddup!" Dean shouted and then bent over as far as his captors allowed, coughing. His lungs burned along with his chest and however many broken or cracked ribs they'd given him. Spots began to crawl across his vision, and then the shifter was there again to hold his face up.

"Take a breath. That's it. Don't want you passing out yet. Want you to enjoy the show." The shifter grinned and waited for Dean's breathing to even slightly. "I told little brother that if he could find you, he could have you. All he has to do is find you."

"Wha'… wha's that mean?" Dean wheezed in a few breaths and tried to keep his head up on his own when the shifter let him go.

"If he can find you, and if…" The shifter snorted a laugh. "Well, if he can get you out of this building, you're free to go. No harm. No foul. We won't come after you."

"Why?" Dean sagged in their arms again with his head spinning from blood loss and his heart hammering in his chest with fear for his brother.

"Because I'm just that generous. And it's fun." The shifter looked over Dean's shoulder and grinned. "And there he is now. Turn him around. Let him look, but keep him quiet."

The shifters holding Dean turned him in a dizzying spin. He grunted in pain when his knees were forcibly kicked out from under him and he went to the floor. They held him kneeling there in a steely grip and a strong hand slapped over his mouth. Dean blinked to clear his vision and realized he was in front of a window that looked down on the lumber mill. Below them was the long central room of the mill. An old conveyor belt ran the length from end to end. Hooks dangled from the ceiling, and staggering into view off to Dean's right was his little brother. Dean bit the hand over his mouth, trying to get room to call out for Sam, but they held him fast and he received a vicious punch to the side of his head for his trouble.

"Now, now, Dean. You can watch but you can't help. One-way mirror. He can't see us." The shifter moved between Dean and the window, tapping the glass lightly twice and knelt to grin at him. "Sammy's not doing so well, it seems. Poor kid. You were a little hard on him." He laughed as Dean's enraged shout was muffled behind the hands holding him. "I think he was actually doing pretty well at holding his own until you took the knife to him."

Dean raged and threw what little strength he had left against the things holding him, but it wasn't enough. He was forced to watch and suffer as Sam stumbled and fell. He landed hard, Dean could tell that even from above, and he shook with anger as Sam managed to climb back to his feet, only to go down again even harder. His little brother curled into himself and Dean wished the light was brighter so he could get a better look at him. A moment later, he was glad it wasn't because he wasn't sure he could stand seeing whatever they'd done to him.

"He's a smart kid, Dean." The shifter shrugged. "I'm sure he's probably figured out where you are, and…oh, yes, he has. See? He's looking toward the stairs." He chuckled. "Awful long way to those stairs. I'm not sure he can make it, especially if he's still bleeding. Is he still bleeding?"

"Oh, yeah, he is."

Dean cringed at the sound of his own voice over his shoulder, so cold and yet so full of glee at Sam's pain. He couldn't believe that Sam had to go through that again, had to survive the nightmare of something wearing Dean's face beating him… hurting him. It had taken days the last time for his brother to not flinch when he woke and saw Dean's face, and he wondered how long it would take this time. Each flinch had been like a knife through his heart; a condemnation of how he'd failed to protect him and nearly lost him.

In the room below, Sam uncurled and gained his feet again, but it was only a moment before his legs refused to hold him and he dropped. It was killing Dean to be forced to watch. From the time Sam had been a toddler tripping over his own feet right up through various hunting injuries, Dean had always been there to catch him when he fell and to hold him up when he was too weak to do it himself. Hell, he'd carried Sam when he'd had to. To have to watch him suffer and fall on his own now was killing a part of Dean. He wanted to scream at Sam to get his ass out of there, but knew that, even if he could, Sam wouldn't listen. He knew without any doubt in his mind that, as long as Sam could draw breath, he would not abandon Dean any more than Dean would ever leave him behind. But watching him struggling like this, knowing his little brother could be bleeding out as he watched, made Dean want to lash out and fight back even if it killed him. As if the shifter sensed it, he lunged in suddenly and drove the small knife into Dean's shoulder.

"Shh. Shh. That's it. There we go." The shifter gave the blade a little twist before pulling it back and watching the fresh blood stain Dean's shirt. "I'm not an idiot. I've heard more than one story about how you Winchesters somehow manage to wreak havoc even when you're bleeding all over the place." He chuckled softly and patted the side of Dean's face almost fondly. "Just making sure that you don't have enough strength left to manage that here. Oh. Oh, dear. I think Sammy's hitting the end of his rope down there."

Dean whimpered around the hand muffling him. He knew it and he didn't care as Sam began a slow, agonizing crawl over the floor of the lumber mill toward the stairs.

"He tracked your cell phone, by the way," the shifter said conversationally as they watched Sam's painful progress. "That's how he knew where to come. When you didn't answer your phone, he put those college smarts to use and found you." He chuckled and winked at Dean. "He had a few choice words to say to you for taking off on your own once he found you… well, you know what I mean. If it's any consolation, it only took him a few minutes to realize that you weren't… exactly… you. I'm impressed. Honestly, most people never figure it out until they're bleeding."

Dean cheered inwardly for his perceptive little brother and just wished he himself hadn't been so damn fool stupid in the first place. He'd been so focused on not losing Sam so close on the heels of their dad that he'd come to search the mill on his own, figuring he could handle one shifter. Dean closed his eyes when Sam sagged to the floor again and listened to the laughter of the shifters around him.

"You should have listened to Sam when he told you he thought something else was going on," the shifter said and casually plunged the knife into the meat of Dean's thigh, enjoying the choked sounds the man made in response. "He was right." He stood and tossed the knife away across the floor, no longer needing it. "Tie his arms and make sure you duct tape his mouth."

Dean jerked as his arms were pulled behind him. He would have cried out in pain if not for the hand over his mouth and slammed his eyes closed when he felt his wrists being bound. He looked up at the shifter when he tapped the top of Dean's head.

"We're going to leave now. It's up to Sam whether you live or die." The shifter grinned. "I think they'll be finding both your bodies up here in a few days when the work crews come back, but you never know." He looked down into the mill at Sam Winchester, still lying on the floor and smiled. "Have a nice death, Winchester."

Dean grunted as he was pushed over to his back hard. All the air left his lungs when one of the shifters holding him stomped his foot into Dean's stomach. It kept him from crying out to his brother when the hand moved away from his mouth, and a moment later, heavy tape was slapped in its place. He rolled his head and watched the shifters leave and stared death at the creature wearing his likeness when it stopped to give Dean a wink before closing the door. He turned his head toward the window instead and wished he could see down to the lumber mill floor again.

He tried to roll off his bound hands, and the pain from his shoulder and cracked ribs stole what little breath he had. Dean was left panting through his nose for too little air. He fought the blackness rolling down on him, but it was too much and his eyes fell closed.

Sound came back to Dean first and he frowned, hearing something he couldn't identify, like something heavy being dragged over wood. He tried to open his mouth and jerked when he couldn't, and it all came rushing back - the shifters, being bound and gagged, and Sam. Dean snapped his eyes open and tried to move. He moaned in pain behind the tape and then heard the sounds again. He rolled his head toward the door and watched as it swung open slowly. He expected the shifters, returning to finish what they'd started, and his eyes blew wide in surprise when it was Sam who came through the door. Dean watched his brother take a step into the room and then collapse to the floor, and his muffled shouts couldn't drown out the sound of Sam wheezing for breath. He waited for Sam to lift his head and caught his brother's blue-green eyes desperately.

"Hang… hang on, Dean." Sam's voice was a hoarse whisper through a raw throat and he hung his head as he got to his hands and knees.

Dean could see pain and exhaustion in every line of Sam's body as his little brother crawled the eight feet across the floor to reach him. As badly as he wanted to do something, anything, to help, he couldn't. Even lying there, he was fighting the need to pass out again. He could feel it like a dark tide waiting to wash down over him. What little he could make out of his brother didn't give him any peace. All he could see was blood, blood everywhere, staining Sam's shirt and jeans and even the shaggy hair on the back of his head was matted with it. Dean's eyes narrowed angrily when Sam reached him and brought his head up again. His throat was ringed with bruises as though he'd been strangled over and over and Dean knew; the shifter wearing him had seen what the last shifter Sam had met had tried to do to him and used it. He watched Sam's shaking hand reach up and take hold of the corner of the duct tape. Dean gave him a nod and braced himself as Sam ripped it from his face.

"Sammy!" Dean gasped and sucked in grateful gasps of air. "Hands… get my… untie me." He needed to get his hands on his brother and see how bad it was.

Sam nodded wearily and then curled forward to rest his head on Dean's shoulder for a moment. "Jus'… need… need a minute."

"Ok, buddy," Dean nodded and swallowed the lump of emotion in his throat. "Sam, how bad?"

Sam shook his head and sat back up slowly. "I'll be fine."

"Bull…" Dean coughed and groaned at the fresh waves of pain. "…bullshit."

"Take… take a breath," Sam warned his brother and slid his hands under Dean's shoulder and hip. The amount of blood on his big brother and pooling beneath him was terrifying him along with how little Dean had moved since he came in the room. He took a deep breath of his own, held it and used what little strength he had to push and roll Dean onto his side. "Sorry. Sorry," he said when Dean cried out and then curled in on himself.

Dean managed to shake his head and somehow not pass out through the waves of agony. He held as still as he could while Sam untied his wrists, grimacing as he felt blood and skin tearing with whatever they had used to bind him. "Sam."

"Called… called Bobby." Sam scowled at the phone cord wrapped far too tightly around his brother's bloody wrists and finally slipped it off. He tossed it away angrily and took Dean's shoulder, pulling him gently onto his back again. He smirked at his brother weakly. "Asshole who was… was wearin' your… your face. Pickpocketed his phone when he was on me. Bobby's comin'."

Dean brought his right arm up and took hold of Sam's before he could pull away. "Siddown," he slurred and tugged, unsurprised when Sam toppled sideways into him. He hissed with pain when his brother's elbow bumped his shoulder and didn't give a damn. "Said… asshole said he carved you up."

Sam nodded and slumped down, finally too exhausted from the pain and the blood loss to stay upright anymore. "Wasn' tryin' to kill me… more or less."

Dean pulled on Sam's arm a little more until his brother gave in and ended up lying on the floor with his head on Dean's chest. He put his hand carefully on the back of Sam's head and turned it a little. "You concussed?" Sam gave him a nod. When he tried to move again, mumbling something about finding bandages, Dean held him down with his hand on his head. "Knock… knock it off. Not goin' anywhere til' Bobby gets here."

"Pushy," Sam grumbled but he stopped trying to move and instead focused on listening to his brother's heart beat under his ear. It had taken him a half an hour to crawl the length of the mill and get up the stairs, and the whole time, the one thought that had screamed through his mind was that he would be too late; that he'd find Dean lying dead somewhere. When he'd first opened the door into the room and seen his brother motionless on the floor covered in far too much blood , it had stolen his breath and stopped his heart for a beat until Dean had moved. His world had snapped back into motion then, and Sam was content now to wait for Bobby. He wasn't leaving Dean alone again any time soon.

"We're ok, Sammy," Dean whispered and was comforted by the heavy weight of Sam's head on his chest. He wished he could get up and carry them both out of there, but for now, he'd be content to wait. They were alive and they were together. "Sorry. S'my fault."

"Yep," Sam said quickly and smiled when Dean's fingers tightened in his hair for a moment. "Kick your ass… later."

Dean snorted softly and let his eyes close. "Deal."

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_The End. _

**Next Up:** Lucydolly22


	10. Chapter 10 for Lucydolly22

**Title:** Reader's Special: Fourth Edition - One Shot Reward Fic Collection

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** A collection of 1 Shot Reward Fics for Prompters of my Reader's Special: Fourth Edition. Features many seasons, hurt/limp/awesome/caring!Sam/Dean/John/Bobby See each chapter for specific info for each 1 shot reward fic.

**Author's Note:** The Reader's Special: Fourth Edition was a smashing success! Prompters of the story were offered a One Shot Reward story of their choice. These are they. None of the chapters contained in this collection are connected. Each one is a stand-alone one shot per the Prompters request. Thank you to all of you who prompted the Reader's Special! You were fantastic as always!

**Chapter Info:** For Lucydolly22 - could you do a story where Sam gets his wisdom teeth out? Emphasis on the drugged, loopy, slurring fluffiness please. And humor of course, make him loopy for as long as possible and i will be happy. Make it that there are complications if you have to :P

**A/N: **Some pre-series Teenchesters here. :D Sam 16/Dean 20 Mostly the requested fluff with just a little touch of fear/angst to keep things interesting. Lol Enjoy!

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

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Dean slipped an arm around his brother's shoulders and pulled him in, holding on when Sam tried to pull away. "Quit it. Wouldn't hurt so much if you'd said something sooner, you idiot."

Sam groaned and closed his eyes as he leaned into Dean and kept a hand wrapped around the right side of his jaw. The toothache had started days earlier and, in true Winchester fashion, he'd sucked it up and ignored it as long as he possibly could. He'd ignored it until the dizziness had started and he'd ended up almost head-first down on the floor if not for his brother's quick reflexes. "Sucks."

"Yeah, I know." Dean smiled and watched his dad talking to the surgeon. He wrinkled his nose at the clinical smell of the hospital. There wasn't any choice in bringing Sam in once his dad had realized what the problem was, and it'd been hard not to when the right side of his brother's face had swelled up so bad he couldn't see out of that eye. "They'll knock you out soon and pull the tooth and you'll be good."

"Teeth," Sam corrected and whimpered, leaning more heavily into his brother with a fresh wave of pain that crashed through his head and stole his breath. "Two wisdom teeth, impacted and…"

"And coming the hell out." Dean finished for him and gave his shoulder a squeeze.

Sam appreciated the comfort. He really did. The pain from the teeth was excruciating. He thought maybe it was because it was in his head and there was no escape from it, but it felt like the worst pain he'd ever experienced, and that was saying a lot, being that he was a Winchester. He couldn't sleep and barely ate; even talking hurt, along with swallowing, breathing… Sam groaned again and wished they'd get the hell on with it already.

"Here they come, buddy," Dean assured his brother and met his father's worried gaze with a nod. "He's good. Just hurts like hell."

"Hello, Sam." The doctor moved up the side of the exam bed and put a hand on the young man's shoulder. "I need you to lie back and we're going to start an IV and get that pain under control for you."

"Dean. Come on." John waved a hand and noted the rebellion in his oldest's eyes at leaving his brother. He smiled fondly and took Dean's arm. "Let them take care of him. He's gonna be fine."

Dean went under protest and with a last one-armed hug for his miserable little brother before he stood up. "You're gonna be fine, gigantor." He grinned at Sam's disgusted look for the name. Dean wasn't going to let him live down the fact that he'd had the bad fortune to get taller than his big brother any time soon, even if he was still on the scrawny side. Kid needed to put some muscle on and eat more to fill out that huge frame.

"Come on." John herded Dean out of the room and into the waiting area, pushing him down to a chair and took the one beside him. "The doctor said it should take about an hour and we can take him home later. Doesn't even have to stay the night."

Dean nodded. "Good." He watched the door to Sam's room close and sighed.

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Sam opened his eyes and wasn't surprised that his big brother's face was right there, hovering over him as though he'd been expecting it. He opened his mouth to speak and groaned as pain stabbed into the right side of his jaw and cheek.

"Hey, don't talk yet, Sammy." Dean smiled and sat on the side of the bed. "Doc said the painkillers they gave you after the surgery should be kicking in soon. You'll feel better then." He smirked because they'd warned him and his father that Sam would no doubt be very high for most of the day. He was looking forward to screwing with his brother. "They said we can take you home soon too."

Sam smiled at that and brought a hand up to the right side of his face.

"Don't screw with it, dude." Dean pushed his brother's hand away gently. Sam's face was still a little swollen and he knew they'd packed gauze in one side of his mouth. "Liquid diet for you for a couple of days, Sammy. Dad's out stockin' up on soup and ice cream and shit right now." He chuckled when Sam rolled his eyes.

"S'numb," Sam said softly, pointing at his face. Even though it hurt, there was a peculiar numb sensation through the right side of his mouth. It made him want to swallow or gag, he couldn't decide.

"It'll wear off and boy are you gonna miss it when it does, even with the painkillers." Dean patted Sam's shoulder. "Got plenty of the good stuff for ya', though, when it does."

"And how's my patient?"

Sam looked up as the doctor entered the room and gave a short nod to him. "Ok."

"Good. I need to have a look and then I think we can let you get out of here." The doctor smiled at both boys and leaned over Sam. "Open up for me, Sam, wide as you can."

Sam suffered through the examination with only a few whimpers of discomfort as the doctor checked his mouth and pressed on various places on the right side of his face. He sighed in relief when the man finally leaned back.

"Everything's looking good. Now, it's still bleeding but that's to be expected." The doctor smiled at the worry on the older brother's face. "I've got a bag with some gauze and antiseptic for you so you can change the dressings when you have to. You're going to want to be careful of the extraction site. Don't dislodge the blood clot covering where the teeth were. That's actually a good thing. If that comes out too soon before the area underneath has started to heal, Sam could experience dry socket and believe me, you don't want to find out how much that hurts."

Sam shook his head and resisted the urge to run his tongue over the spot inside his mouth.

"I'm sure your dad and brother will make sure that doesn't happen." The doctor smiled and patted Sam's shoulder again. "I'll go get the paperwork ready for your father when he gets back. You just get comfortable, Sam. Dean, make sure he doesn't do too much for the next couple days. Any physical activity can make the bleeding worse, even walking around too much."

"No problem, doc." Dean promised solemnly and gave his little brother a look that meant he'd take that warning to heart. "He's not gonna be doing anything but laying around on the couch watching cartoons."

"S'for babies," Sam protested.

"Which explains why you still love cartoons," Dean said with a laugh and easily caught the hand Sam threw at him.

"Jerk," Sam grumbled softly and closed his eyes to wait for their dad. He just wanted to get out of the hospital and away from the bright lights that were making his head hurt. He didn't realize at first that the painkillers had kicked in until he heard Dean laughing and then his father's low chuckle. He opened his eyes and frowned up at them, not having even heard his dad come into the room. "Huh?"

"Dude," Dean wiped his eyes and shook his head. "You've been humming for, like… ten minutes."

"Watch Sleeping Beauty recently, did you, Sam?" John Winchester asked with another chuckle and bent over his youngest son, smoothing a hand over his forehead. "You were humming 'Once Upon a Dream'."

Sam shook his head. "Nu-uh. Wasn't."

"Yep, sorry, buddy. You were." Dean smiled and slid an arm under his brother's shoulders while his dad took hold of Sam's hands. "Let's get you up, huh?"

"We goin' somewhere?" Sam asked in confusion.

"Gettin' you home, Sammy. There you go." John pulled while Dean pushed and he watched Sam's eyes roll a little drunkenly around the room. He smirked. "He's gonna be fun for the next couple days." He fixed Dean with a stern look over Sam's shoulder. "No, you will NOT be putting on every horror movie you can find just to freak him out."

Dean snorted a laugh and shrugged innocently. "I wouldn't do that to him."

"Uh huh." John didn't believe him for a second. He looked back down at his youngest and smiled. "How you doin', Sammy?"

"Kinda… floaty." Sam smiled, or tried to, but couldn't really pull it off around the pile of gauze in his mouth.

"Ok, tiger." John grinned and took Sam's legs, pulling them around and over the side of the bed. He shook his head when Sam stood and towered over him by several inches. "What the hell did we feed you?"

Leaving the hospital and the trip back to the motel were mostly a blur for Sam. He kept hearing someone humming Disney tunes and his brother and dad laughing, but he couldn't figure out why it was funny. Sam sighed happily when they reached the motel and he flopped back onto his bed.

"Nope. No can do, Sammy," John waved a hand at Dean. "Get him up. I'll get the stuff from the trunk."

"Hey, buddy. Come on." Dean took his brother's arms and pulled Sam so he was sitting up. "Doc said no lyin' on your back for a couple days, remember?"

Sam shook his head. "Nope."

Dean snorted and held him up when Sam tried to lay down again. "Awesome."

"How come we're not…" Sam frowned and waved an arm, narrowly missing catching his big brother in the face. "…we gotta job, right? Gotta gank the… the… what were we hunting?"

"Dude," Dean laughed and caught his brother's flailing arm. "It's no big deal. Dad called Bobby. He's gonna come take care of it tomorrow."

"But… Ooh, I gotta research!" Sam sat up and stared around. "Do we have a library? We should have a… I like books."

"Oh, man." Dean ran a hand down his face, trying not to burst out laughing, but Sam was making it damn hard. "Just relax, Sammy."

"No! This'simportant!" Sam stared intently at Dean until his eyes started to cross and then blew out a noisy breath in his brother's face. "We gotta fin' the thing… the… I can't 'member what's'it called. The thing that…"

"Bobby'll find it." Dean gave up and started laughing. He held on to his brother when Sam started listing to one side drunkenly.

"D'joo know that uh… that…" Sam stopped and frowned, running his tongue around his lips for a second. "The average rainfall in ameri-no… South America…it's…" He grabbed hold of Dean's shoulders, oblivious to the fact his brother was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes. "S'really wet there."

John returned and dropped several bags onto the near bed and hefted the pillows he'd picked up in his arms. He'd decided not to risk stuffing a pile of ratty motel pillows around Sam while he was healing and picked up a few new ones. "Get these behind him." His face was split in a wide grin because Sam's voice had carried out through the door. His youngest son was well and truly high. Not to mention, the picture of him clinging to his brother and staring so intently and seriously at Dean as if imparting information that could change the fate of the world while Dean struggled to contain his laughter was priceless. John did not have a lot of those moments, so he treasured them all the more when they did happen.

Dean quickly propped his little brother up and let Sam ease back into the pillows while he took several deep breaths to calm the laughter. "How's that?"

"S'fluffy cloud o' awesome," Sam snickered and then frowned, putting a hand up to his face. "Face hurts."

"Ice pack?" Dean chuckled and turned to his dad and got a nod.

"Yeah, lemme grab one." John had shoved the two ice packs they had into the motel room's little freezer before they'd left, knowing they'd need them later.

Sam swallowed and grimaced and looked up at Dean. "Wanna spit."

"Huh?" Dean watched his brother make disgusted faces and then laughed again. "Tasting blood? Ok, hang on." He went into the bathroom and grabbed the trashcan, brought it back out and handed the little can to Sam. "There you go, dopey."

"Blech." Sam leaned over the can and spit several times, scowling when a wad of blood-soaked gauze came out as well.

"Here. Get some juice into him and we'll put some fresh gauze in there." John handed Dean a bottle of orange juice and went to the bags on his bed, digging through until he found what he wanted. It was a little irritating to be sidetracked like this, forced to take several days and stop when he'd been in the middle of a job. Bobby, though, had given him a dressing-down worthy of his old Marine Corps commander when he'd suggested finishing it anyway. John smiled ruefully; he'd deserved it. He knew he could sometimes… most of the time… be single-minded when it came to the hunt, but Bobby was right; his sons needed to come first, especially now.

Sam took the ice pack his dad handed him and put it to his face with a grateful sigh as the cold began to seep into his cheek.

"Drink some of this, Sam." Dean held up the juice and rolled his eyes when Sam shook his head. "Dude, drink the juice or I'll pour it in ya'."

Sam scowled but took the bottle. He took several careful swallows with a grimace for the way the blood almost overrode the taste of the juice and handed it back. "Tastes like blood. S'kinda disgusting."

"You're kinda disgusting," Dean said with a grin and set the bottle aside. "Open up. Let Dr. Dean pack that big mouth shut for ya'."

"Dude! Tha's just…that's gross." Sam scowled and slapped a hand out to his brother that went wide and missed. "Dammit."

"Behave, boys," John warned and handed a package of gauze to Dean. "You sure you wanna risk your fingers?"

"He bites me, I'm biting back," Dean promised and glared until Sam burst into giggles. "We need to get video of this and tease him about it later."

John shook his head. "No thanks. I like not worrying about him killing me in my sleep."

"Spoilsport." Dean grinned again, held up a wad of gauze and tapped his brother's chin. "Open up."

Sam decided he could maybe get used to being waited on after a few hours of it. The only time Dean would even let him up off the bed was to take a piss, and Sam was pretty sure his brother would have vetoed that as well if he could have found a way to stop him. He'd started humming again, high on the painkillers the hospital had pumped him full of, and then Dad had given him two more. Now Sam would swear there were spots dancing across the ceiling as his eyes blinked slowly in a daze. He was so sleepy and would have dozed off already if not for the fact that he couldn't seem to get a full breath no matter how wide he opened his mouth. He could see his dad and his brother at the little table across the room, Dean smoking his dad at poker if the frustrated look on Dad's face was any indication. Sam decided that he really, really needed Dean right now.

"You know, you used to be more of a challenge, Dad." Dean grinned unrepentantly at his father and took the pile of pretzels in the middle of the table. It felt… strange almost to just be sitting there doing something like playing cards with his dad; no job, no plans to run out and find something to kill. They were just being… family. He smiled while his dad shuffled the cards and then heard another sound over the cards; a wheezing. "Sammy."

Dean was off his chair like a shot with the certain knowledge sinking into his gut that something was wrong. "Sam?" He slid in next to his brother and felt his father over his shoulder, but his eyes were on his little brother. Sam's mouth was open wide. Air whistled in and out and his eyes met Dean's with a growing look of panic. "Dad? Dad, I don't think he can breathe!"

"Get him up! Hospital! Now!" John could see a slight blue tinge to Sam's lips and remembered the short warning the doctor had given him that, in rare cases, sometimes the extraction could cause the throat to swell and close off an airway. He'd told John not to worry about it, that it likely wasn't a possibility, and John decided right there to introduce the doctor to his fist first chance he got. He ran for the motel room door and the Impala.

Dean leaned down and gathered Sam in against his chest. "Just keep breathin', Sammy. Please." He picked him up with a grunt of effort, adjusting his balance until he could walk. Sam simply clung to him with his face in his neck and those frightening whistles as he tried to breathe. "Don't you give up on me," Dean said softly and slid quickly into the backseat while their dad held the door. He kept Sam propped against his chest, urging him to breathe as they drove and kept Sam from sliding off the bench seat with every hard turn dad took.

"Almost there," John said fiercely and took the last turn toward the hospital.

"Dad. Dad!" Dean tipped Sam's head back as his little brother's hands scrabbled desperately at his shirt. "No, no, no! Come on, Sammy. Just take a breath!"

John gritted his teeth and put the pedal to the floor while fear choked him. His baby was not going to die because of a damn wisdom tooth. He screeched to a stop outside the emergency room doors and was out of the car and wrenching open the back door before the engine had a chance to go silent. He bellowed for help as Dean staggered through the door with his baby brother in his arms and held on to his eldest when they pulled Sam away from him and Dean snarled, trying to follow.

It seemed like days before a man in green scrubs emerged calling their names and Dean was up out of his chair ahead of his father. "Where's my brother? Where is he?"

"Dean." John put a restraining hand on his shoulder and looked at the doctor. "Just tell me he's alive."

"He is. Sam's going to be fine." The doctor nodded and smiled, trying to relieve some of the soul-crushing terror he could still on both men's faces. "We have him on a ventilator, and he'll need to stay on it for a couple of days until the swelling goes down, but he's going to be fine. Do you want to see him?"

"Stupid damn question. Of course we wanna see him!" Dean glared and blew out a breath when his father's hand squeezed harder on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry. Of course you do. This way."

John followed at Dean's side through the hospital corridors and then stopped in the door while Dean surged across the room to his brother's side. Sam lay in the bed with a tube emerging from his mouth. He was pale and, in spite of his height, looked small in the bed. "You're sure? He's gonna be alright?" John asked the doctor softly.

"Yes. He wasn't without oxygen for more than a couple minutes and he woke once while we were intubating him." The doctor smiled sadly. "He was definitely alert." He raised a hand at the sudden anger on the father's face. "We put him out quickly."

"Thanks," John said tersely. "I think you can leave now."

"Hey, Sammy." Dean sat beside him on the bed and put a hand on the side of his brother's neck. The tube sticking down his throat seemed too big to fit and he hated it. He smiled though when Sam's brow wrinkled and he turned his head into Dean's hand. "Dad, he's wakin' up."

"Don't let him pull the tube out," John warned and went to the bed and his boys. "The doctor said he woke up while they were putting the tube into him. He's probably…"

"Not gonna wake up happy," Dean finished and nodded. He cupped the side of Sam's face and saw his dad take hold of both of his hands as Sam's eyes fluttered slowly open. "Hey, buddy. No, no. Take it easy!" Dean soothed when Sam's eyes blew wide and he heard a choking sound around the tube in his mouth. "Just breathe. It's ok. You're alright."

"Sam!" John leaned in and waited for Sam's frantic eyes to meet his. It hurt his heart a little having to hold Sam's hands with the way he was pulling and straining to get them free. "You stopped breathing. They put a tube in to get you breathing again. I know it's uncomfortable, but you need to leave it alone for a while, alright?"

Sam calmed under his father's gaze and Dean's hand on his neck and tried to relax around the intrusion in his throat. Somehow, he felt like he was breathing and choking at the same time. He nodded after a moment and met his brother's eyes, trying to let him know that he wasn't going to try and pull the tube out anymore.

"He's good, Dad. You can let go." Dean smiled and patted the side of his brother's neck.

John trusted Dean's assessment and let one of Sam's hands go. He kept hold of the other one for himself and sat on the other side of the bed. "Sam, I'm sorry about this. Guess we should have stuck around in the hospital a little longer, huh?"

Sam frowned and looked at his dad and then at his brother before shaking his head once.

"Sam says it's not our fault." Dean chuckled, a little dizzy with relief. "Scared the hell out of us, Sammy," he said suddenly and swallowed hard around the lump of emotion when he felt his brother's other hand fist in the back of his shirt. "You're gonna be fine, but the tube's gonna have to stay in for a day or two. Don't gimme that face." He smiled down at Sam's bitch-face.

John leaned back and watched his boys with each other, somehow managing to carry on a conversation even though Sam couldn't speak. He smiled and let the knot of tension that had coiled in his gut back in the motel room ease away. He felt Sam's hand squeeze his and looked up to give another smile to his youngest.

"You know the worst part about that tube?" Dean quirked a brow at his brother with a smirk. "You're all loopy on pain meds and you can't hum Disney tunes at us anymore." He laughed when Sam's free hand thumped into his back. "Bitch."

John slapped the back of his oldest son's head and gave Sam a nod as he smiled around the tube. "I'm gonna go grab some coffee. Dean, don't irritate your brother."

Dean snorted. "Uh huh." He rolled his eyes at Sam and grinned again, putting his hand back on his brother's neck. "Seriously, dude. You alright?" Sam gave him a short nod and fisted his hand in the back of Dean's shirt again, a silent plea for him not to leave. "Not goin' anywhere, little brother."

Sam stopped fighting the tube in his throat and relaxed into the bed. The drugs in his system hadn't prevented him from feeling terror when he couldn't breathe, and he'd thought he was going to die in the car and the last thing he'd see would be Dean's panicked eyes. They were calm now and locked on his and Sam kept hold of Dean's shirt, needing the contact as he let his eyes fall closed in relief. If Dean was calm, Sam knew he was safe.

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_The End. _

**Next Up:** SPN Mum


	11. Chapter 11 for SPN Mum

**Title:** Reader's Special: Fourth Edition - One Shot Reward Fic Collection

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** A collection of 1 Shot Reward Fics for Prompters of my Reader's Special: Fourth Edition. Features many seasons, hurt/limp/awesome/caring!Sam/Dean/John/Bobby See each chapter for specific info for each 1 shot reward fic.

**Author's Note:** The Reader's Special: Fourth Edition was a smashing success! Prompters of the story were offered a One Shot Reward story of their choice. These are they. None of the chapters contained in this collection are connected. Each one is a stand-alone one shot per the Prompters request. Thank you to all of you who prompted the Reader's Special! You were fantastic as always!

**Chapter Info:** For SPN Mum - For my story, I think I'd like to see Aunt Fay meet Jody Mills (you can decide the circumstances and when it takes place), but it should happen because of a case gone wrong for Sam and Dean. Both boys get pretty banged up, both physically and emotionally, and it takes Jody and Fay working together (with some 'mothering' and gossip) to make them better.

**A/N: **Set after 8x20 "Pac-Man Fever" This one may have gotten away from me a little while I had fun with the premise I came up with. Lol I'm sure no one minds.

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

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"Get up, Dean." Sam pulled on his brother's arm and looked over his shoulder. "They're getting closer. Come on. You can do this. Up!"

Dean groaned and pulled his legs back under him, hearing the desperation in his brother's voice. "Workin'… on it. Shit." He knew damn well Sam was just as banged up as he was, maybe worse, but given the way his ribs felt right then, it'd be a toss-up who'd taken the harder hits. "Friggin'… ghosts. And damn should'a finished."

"Yeah, Dean." Sam dragged Dean along with him through the graveyard toward the woods behind it. "I'm sure the cops… crap." He hunched over and had to fight to catch his breath as they moved. "Sure the cops would have just stood back and let us finish desecrating the g-grave."

"Sammy?" Dean didn't miss the hitch in Sam's voice and tried to take more of his own weight and get a look at his brother at the same time.

"Keep moving," Sam said fearfully and made sure his brother didn't get a chance to have a look at Sam's left side. It would stop them in their tracks, he knew, if Dean caught sight of the blood, or worse... the bullet hole in the left arm of his jacket. The ghost had appeared just as soon as Dean had climbed out of the grave. Sam had been forced to watch as his brother was flung into an angel statue so hard that it cracked and broke with him. A moment later, the spirit of one very pissed off Jack Kreacher had picked Sam up, avoiding the round of rock salt from his shotgun, and thrown him down into his grave. Sam could feel large splinters of wood from the shattered coffin digging in and moving in his side and his leg. It was a sickening feeling, and he did his best to ignore it as they moved.

"How'd they even… even know we were there?" Dean grumbled and wrapped his right arm around his chest to try and hold his shifting ribs in place. The officers had arrived while Dean was crawling out of the wreckage of the statue. The cops had started shouting as Sam crawled out of the grave with a shotgun in his hands, and then the bullets had started flying. He supposed they sort of owed the ghost a thank you. If Jack's angry spirit hadn't returned just then and distracted the cops by making them piss themselves, he and Sam might have both ended up dead. It gave them the distraction they needed to run and get the hell out of Dodge.

"Think… I think it's still just those two cops tryin' to chase us," Sam said and stopped at the low, stone fence surrounding the cemetery. "Hang on." He climbed painfully over, doing his best to hide just how wounded he was, and then reached back to help his big brother. "Careful."

"Got… got it. I got it." Dean slung one leg over the fence and would have gone down but for Sam's arm across his chest as the motion sent pain exploding through his chest. It took his breath away and he fought to breathe through it.

"Easy." Sam held him up and looked back out over the graveyard. He saw the beams from two flashlights waving back and forth through the darkness and knew they couldn't rest. "We need to move. Come on." He pulled on his brother's arm and got it over his shoulder again. "They look at the ground, they'll know right where we went."

"Huh? How?" Dean looked down and back the way they'd come.

Sam kicked himself for saying that and shook his head. "Just keep moving."

Dean's mouth opened as the moonlight hit the grass between the graves just right and he saw dark, red drops glistening in a trail for a moment. "Son'fa bitch. You're bleeding?"

"Not now, Dean. You can sit on me later." Sam tugged him into a faster walk into the trees. "Gotta get out of here. Go back for the car later."

Dean knew he was right. If the cops caught up with them, they were neither one of them in a condition to break out of a jail, although, if they looked bad enough, the cops might send them to an ER instead and Dean could get them out of that no problem. "Maybe we should…we should let 'em nab us."

Sam shook his head. "Already shot at us once and they saw a ghost. Dude, they're trigger happy now."

"Dammit." Dean groaned again and looked through the trees. "Lights. House, there's a hou… house up there."

"What do you wanna do? Knock on the door and explain all this?" Sam gestured at the both of them and snorted. "That'd go over well."

"We'll tell 'em we got jumped." Dean put his weight into Sam's side to turn him toward the house. "Dude, you're bleeding, which means you're hurt worse than you're fessin' up to, and I'm barely walkin'. They're gonna catch up to us."

Sam sighed in defeat and got them moving toward the house. "Fine. But if we end up in jail again, you get to play the bitch this time."

Dean snorted a laugh and then hunched over himself. "Dammit! Don't… don't make me laugh. Crap."

Sam smiled and kept them moving as he heard muffled voices calling out behind them. They didn't have a lot of time to get out of sight. He dug in his pocket as they moved and pulled out his phone, scrolled down his contacts and put the phone to his ear.

"Who you callin'?" Dean asked and focused on getting one foot in front of the other.

"Just in case we get nabbed." Sam smiled. "Hey, Jody. We, uh… we might need some help from a friendly police officer here."

Dean listened to Sam give her the Cliff's Notes version of events and jerked when he heard a gunshot ring out behind them. "Assholes are shootin'… shootin' at trees."

"No; that wasn't aimed at us," Sam assured her. He closed his eyes for a moment to pull up the map of the area in his head. "We're heading to a house on, uh… I think it's Blackmoor Street. Behind the cemetery, through the woods. I'll call you once I've got the address." Sam sighed and hitched Dean's arm higher on his shoulder. "We're, uh… we're banged up some, yeah. Just, you know, get here?" He hung up when she promised to be there and tucked his phone away. It was nice to know there was still someone they could count on for help when they really needed it. "She's only a couple hours away."

Dean nodded and listened to the sounds of pursuit behind them as they crossed the backyard from the woods to the single-story house. He knew Sam was close to finished whether his little brother realized it or not. Sam was slowing, he was letting Dean's arm slip, and he was spending more and more time staring at the ground in a daze. "Sam. Sammy. Stairs, dude," Dean prompted when it looked like Sam was just going to walk into them.

"Huh? Right. Sorry. Come on." Sam went up the steps onto the porch as quickly as he could, leading Dean and fighting the spots crawling across his vision. He let Dean knock on the door and turned to look out into the woods again. "I don't see them. Think maybe we lost… lost them. Whoa."

Dean caught Sam between his arm and the door when he swayed. "Easy." He'd been ready for it, and held him up ignoring his own pain and banged harder on the door. The light beside them came on blinding Dean for a moment, and then the door swung inward a moment before Dean realized what was going to happen. "Crap. Crap!" He tried to catch hold of Sam as the door moved behind him but was too slow and his little brother toppled inside the door.

"Oh, my God!"

Dean heard the woman's voice raised in alarm, but he was focused on his brother who hit the floor with a grunt and then didn't move. "Sammy?"

"Dean?"

"What?" Dean jerked his head over to the woman and it took him a moment of staring gape-mouthed before it sank in. "Aunt Fay?"

"What…" Fay shook her head and looked down at Sam and back up to Dean. "Alright. Priorities. Questions later. Get in here and help me with him."

Dean stared a few seconds longer and then shook his head. He forced himself to move and knelt slowly next to his brother. "Sam."

"You two ever do anything that doesn't involve dropping buckets of blood?" Fay asked ruefully and brushed Sam's dark hair out of his eyes. She looked up at Dean and thought they both looked somehow older than the last time she'd seen them. "Tell you what. I'll pull Sam out of the way and you get the door closed. I'm gonna assume you have something to do with those gunshots I heard."

Dean nodded and groaned, leaning around to get a hand on the door. "Not what you think."

"Uh-huh." Fay slid her hands under Sam's shoulders, grimacing at the blood she felt there and pulled, dragging the tall man back along her hall until he was half in the kitchen door.

Dean swung the door closed and got painfully back to his feet. He hit the switch for the outside light, flicking it off so it wouldn't draw the officers' attention if they came out near the house. "We were taking care of a ghost." He leaned on the wall and watched Fay roll his brother gently to his back and examine him more closely. "Cops showed up right after Casper kicked our asses and started shooting."

"That explains this, then." Fay picked up Sam's left arm and shook her head. "He's been shot."

"Jesus." Dean stumbled the few steps to his brother and knelt next to him. "What the…" His hands hovered over his brother's left side and the amount of blood soaking Sam's clothes scared the crap out of him, coupled with the bits of old coffin wood he could see stuck through and into Sam's side and thigh like massive splinters. "Tossed him into the grave."

Dean reached out, trying to see where the bullet had hit. Fay had indicated his arm, and Dean finally found the spot where the bullet had torn through the upper part of the arm of Sam's jacket. But…with all the blood, Dean was almost afraid to ask his next question. "Can you tell, is he hit anywhere else?"

Fay shook her head. "I don't think so. Nothing that penetrated, at any rate. At least not that I can see. If there's a graze under all that blood, we'll find it when we clean him up."

Dean sagged with relief. His own pain and exhaustion that that been momentarily forgotten on hearing Fay say, 'He's been shot,' came flooding back, and he had to fight the urge to just curl in on himself until it stopped hurting.

"And you?" Fay asked, watching Dean with every bit as much concern as she had for Sam's condition.

"Uh, statue." Dean snorted softly and looked down at his chest. "Think it….rearranged my ribs a little." He fumbled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Jody. "What's the address here, Fay? Jody!" Dean said when she answered on the first ring. "Hey, we're safe for now, I think." He gave her the address, repeating what Fay told him and sagged forward a little further. "We'll be fine." Dean closed the phone and put it away, looking up to Fay's curious gaze with a smile. "Sheriff Jody Mills. Friend of ours. She's gonna be here soon. Couple hours."

"Good. She can help me with Sam when she gets here, since I can't lift him." Fay smiled and stood, moving over beside Dean.

"I can get him," Dean said and glared up at her when Fay took his arm and pulled him away. "You were this irritating in Alaska, too, dammit."

Fay chuckled and nodded. "Come on. Up you get." She pulled and got him to his feet, then slipped under his arm to steady him as they walked down the hall to her living room.

"What are you even doin' here?" Dean looked down at her.

Fay smiled and pointed him toward the couch. "Well, after those shadow things and the volcano… I decided Alaska was just a little too dangerous to be comfortable with anymore." She laughed. "George is still up there running his boat. Here, sit down. There you go."

Dean lowered himself to the couch and looked back out into the hall. "Sam."

"I'm gonna go triage him right now, alright? If I think it's safe enough, I'll drag him in here." Fay rolled out her shoulders with a chuckle. "Need to start lifting weights if I'm gonna be carrying you boys around again."

Dean watched her go and leaned back into the couch, trying to find a way to sit that allowed him to take a deep breath, but it was hard. He wanted to go help carry his brother, but she was right. He was in no condition to pick Sam up. He'd probably end up with a punctured lung from one of the broken ribs, and wouldn't THAT just be fun. "Son of a bitch."

Fay knelt next to Sam again and clicked her tongue. "You poor boy. Nothing's ever easy for you, is it?" She went over him quickly and efficiently and decided she could risk dragging him to the living room, mainly because she knew if she didn't, Dean would be right back out in the hall.

Dean watched Fay come back into the living room backwards and pulling Sam a few inches at a time with a wry smile. "Kinda fun watchin' someone else deal with his gigantor ass."

Fay snorted and stopped when she had the young man beside the couch. She pulled a pillow off the end and slipped it under Sam's head then stood and stretched her arms out again. "Alright. Stay put. I'm gonna go grab my first-aid kit. Luckily for you, I keep it stocked thanks to two danger-prone young man who stumbled into my life in Alaska."

Dean grinned and then turned his gaze down to his brother when she left. He was too pale and too still for Dean's liking. He was just sitting forward to ease himself to the floor when Fay returned with a large, red bag and glared at him. "Wasn't doin' nothin'," he said quickly and smiled.

"Keep your ass on that couch, Winchester." Fay said without heat and knelt beside Sam again. She lifted him up enough to ease his left arm out of his jacket and laid him back. "He's lost a lot of blood."

"We got the same blood type," Dean told her, watching while she took out a pair of blunt nosed scissors and starting cutting Sam's shirts apart. "Hook me up if he needs it. You know how to do that, right?"

The ex-army nurse nodded. "Yeah, I do. Hoping I won't have too. That's not something I want to try outside of a hospital."

Dean snorted softly. "Wouldn't be the first time for us. Geez." He groaned as Fay eased the shreds of Sam's shirts away from his chest and arm.

"I'm going to have to pull these out." Fay took hold of one of the splinters of wood stuck in Sam's stomach and gave it a pull. It slid out in a wash of fresh blood and she tossed it aside. "You stay there." Fay looked up when saw Dean's legs move. "You're no good to me in your condition. I've got him. Stay put and try not to puncture a lung."

Dean growled but resettled and resigned himself to being forced to watch her care for Sam. The more blood Sam lost into her carpet, the more Dean thought they should risk a hospital. "Fay…"

"It's alright." Fay glanced up from taping bandages over the three wounds she'd made pulling out pieces of wood and bent over another. "I know it looks bad, but I think it's just blood loss keeping him out. Most of this…" She leaned down and pressed gently around a wound high on the left of Sam's chest. "…it's superficial really. The only one I'm actually concerned about is that bullet hole. It's still in there. I'm gonna have to dig it out."

"Watch his breathing." Dean moved carefully to get his jacket off and watched her pull a long piece of wood from Sam's thigh. "He's got… well, it's complicated, but he ain't in the best of health right now. He, uh… he coughs blood sometimes."

Fay jerked her head up in surprise. "Why isn't he in a hospital?"

"Because there's not a hospital on the planet that can fix him, Fay. Not this," Dean added softly. "It's complicated."

Shaking her head, Fay went back to work on Sam. Now that she was really looking, she could see the signs of some long-term illness in him. He was thinner than she remembered, and when she took a moment to put a stethoscope to his chest, she could hear a disturbing rattle in his lungs that did not bode good things. She bandaged over the rest of his wounds and turned her attention to his arm. "The floor is not the ideal place to be doing this."

Dean nodded miserably. "I know." He ran a hand through his hair and suffered when Sam jerked as Fay pushed a pair of forceps into his arm. "He's gonna… you gotta stop for a sec or he's gonna wake up swingin'."

Fay pulled the forceps back, set them aside and braced her hands on Sam's shoulders. His eyes flew open, and she bore down on him before he could rear up. "Sam! Sam, it's alright. It's Fay!"

"Sammy!"

Fay watched fondly as Sam's head jerked toward his brother's voice and he instantly calmed. She smiled and eased up on his shoulders. "Sam?"

"Sorry." Sam let his head fall back and his eyes slammed shut with the waves of pain.

"Dude, there's a bullet in your arm," Dean leaned out as far as he could and then nudged his brother's hip with the toe of his boot. "She's gotta get it out, and you're gonna wish you'd stayed asleep."

"All… already do," Sam groaned and cracked his eyes open to look up the woman. "Fay?" he frowned and turned his gaze to his brother. "When'd we get to Alaska?"

Dean gave a soft chuckle and leaned back. "She moved here."

"It's alright, Sam." Fay smiled down at him and rested a hand along his face for a moment. "I moved here a couple months ago. I'm as surprised as you are, sweetie. Now, can you hold still for me while I do this?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I… ok." He rolled his head toward his brother and closed his eyes while the room swam. "Prob'ly gon… gonna pass out 'gain."

"Ok, Sam. You go ahead if you need to." Fay gave his cheek a pat and picked the forceps up again. She hated to do it and cause him even more pain, but the bullet would only cause more problems down the road.

Watching anyone else cause Sam pain, even to help him, pissed Dean off, but he smiled when he felt his brother's good hand clamp around his calf. "Breathe through it, Sam," Dean urged as Sam's breathing hitched and he began to arch off the floor in agony while Fay pushed the tool further into his arm.

"Almost," Fay bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes. She'd felt the forceps nudge metal and worked to let the tongs slide around the bullet. She grinned, feeling sweat dampen her brow and opened her eyes. "Got it. I got it, Sam. Just another minute."

Dean saw the moment Sam lost his battle with the pain. His brother collapsed into the floor and he felt Sam's hand loosen its death-grip on his leg and fall away. "He's out again. He alright?"

Fay pulled the bullet free and let it drop to the floor with the forceps as she put a hand to Sam's neck. She blew out a breath in relief and nodded. "Little faster than I'd like, but yeah. He's alright." She disinfected the bullet wound and bandaged it and finally rose from Sam's side with a groan for her aching knees. "Ok, pretty boy. Let's get that shirt off."

Dean was surprised into a laugh. "Glad to see you haven't changed, Fay."

"At my age, flirting with young men is a perk." Fay smiled and sat beside him on the couch. "Just let me do most of the work, alright?" She eased Dean's flannel and then his t-shirt off as painlessly as she could and sucked in a breath at the sight of his chest. Livid bruises crawled across the center of his chest and around his right side. "You said a statue hit you?"

Dean grimaced as she pressed carefully around his ribs. "More like… more like I hit the statue. Crap, Fay."

"I know. Sorry. I need to see how bad it is." Fay picked his arm up and settled it on her shoulder to give her better access. "Keep it there. You know how lucky you two are that I'm a former medic?"

"We owe you our lives more than once," Dean said seriously and met her eyes, giving her a smile. "We know it."

Fay nodded and bent back to his chest. "I know you do."

Dean suffered through what felt like an hour, but was really only a few minutes, with Fay pressing her fingers into and across his chest. He'd have sworn she was trying to find the most painful spots and torture him with them if he didn't know her better. He was gasping for air and sweating by the time she put his arm down and leaned back. "Verdict?" he asked breathlessly.

"Well, you're right. They're not in one piece." Fay patted his leg and leaned down, digging a long, wide roll of bandage out of her bag. "Definitely two broken or damn well cracked to hell, maybe three. You planning on getting up and moving again?" She held up the roll of bandage. "Because if you are, I'm wrapping them first. Don't need you bending over and puncturing a lung."

"When Jody gets here," Dean lifted his arm back to her shoulder in a silent request for her to do it, "we'll have to get… get outta here. Cops are probably still looking."

Fay nodded and bent to her task again. She wrapped the bandage around his chest, making it just tight enough to give him some support without cutting off his breathing. "I'm not sure you should be going anywhere anytime soon." She nodded down to Sam. "He's certainly in no condition to move right now."

Dean tried to breathe as normally as he could and heaved a sigh when she was finished. "Thanks, Fay. I know. But if they find us here…"

"Like I'd turn you over to a bunch of badge-wearing pansies." Fay chuckled. "Relax, Dean. You're safe here."

Dean's head jerked up at a knock on her front door and he reached behind him with a grimace to take out his gun. "You sure about that?"

Fay nodded firmly and waved him off. "Stay there. I'll handle this." She stepped over Sam and went into the hall. She took a moment to compose herself, pull a sweater on over her bloodstained shirt, and quickly drag a throw rug from further up the hall to cover the pool of blood where Sam had been laying. She took a deep breath and then pulled open the door. "Yes, officer?" She said to the woman in uniform on her porch. "Little late for going door to door, isn't it?"

"No, I got the right place if you have two Winchesters holed up here. I'm Jody." Jody smiled and held out her hand. "Sheriff Jody Mills. The boys gave me this address."

"Jody?" Dean's voice called from inside.

"Well, come on in then!" Fay took Jody's arm and pulled her inside, quickly shutting the door. "Don't want the locals seeing you on my doorstep and starting to wonder."

"Dean? Sam?" Jody followed Dean's voice around the corner and her eyes went wide at the sight of them. "Holy crap, Dean! What the hell happened to you two?" She pulled off her jacket and tossed it on a nearby chair. "Can't you leave you guys alone for five minutes."

Fay laughed, following her into the living room and smiled at Dean. "I like her."

"Sam?" Jody dropped down beside the younger Winchester and smoothed a hand over his brow, her expression tightening as she got a good look at him.

"He'll be alright, I think," Fay reassured her. "He passed out while I was digging the bullet out of him."

"Bullet!" Jody looked up at Dean in shock. "Just how into it with the local cops did you get?"

"They saw the ghost and freaked the hell out." Dean groaned and eased forward on the couch, trying to sit up straighter while his chest protested. "Sam holding a shotgun and climbing out of a grave looking like a Thriller reject probably didn't help either. We ran. Didn't even get to toast the asshole that did most of this."

"Aw, Sam," Jody sighed and brushed his long hair out of his eyes with a sad smile.

"Hey, hurt here too, ya' know." Dean whined and smirked when Jody chuckled and looked up at him.

"Alright. So what do we do?" Jody leaned back and kept a hand on Sam's shoulder, trying not to be freaked out by the amount of blood and the bandages covering the left side of his body. "You can't go back out there. Whatever you did in that graveyard, half the town's cops are out searching the streets right now. I'm not even sure I could get you out to my car without being seen."

"Dammit," Dean groaned. He stood, or tried to. His ribs pulled, and pain shot through his chest and set off stars behind his eyes. Dean panted for breath and opened them again to find he was half-lying on the couch with Jody and Fay hovering over him.

"Yeah, you're not going anywhere, Dean." Fay patted his shoulder. She looked at Jody and smiled. "Think you can help me carry Sam into the bedroom? It's just across the hall."

"Not leavin' him alone," Dean argued and tried to sit up again only to have two sets of hands push him back.

"There's a recliner in my room," Fay told him with a smile. "You shouldn't lay flat anyway. Just let us get Sam moved, and we'll come back for you."

Dean growled, unhappy at being left behind but sighed. "Jody? There's a bag in the hall."

"The usual collection of Winchester goodies?" Jody asked with a smirk and nodded. "I'll grab it after we get him moved."

"Thanks." Dean let himself sink back into the couch and couldn't help snorting a laugh while the women grunted, groaned and cursed as they lifted his brother between them and carried him slowly from the room. He had a go at sitting up again once they were out of sight but found he couldn't get out of the semi-reclined position without ending up gasping for breath and trying not to pass out, even with his ribs wrapped. "Shit."

Fay returned, rubbing her shoulders and shook her head. "That boy is too damn big for his own good. You're turn, handsome."

"Gotta salt the house, Fay. And other stuff." Dean took the hand she held out and took a breath, holding it against the flash of pain as she pulled him up.

"Alright. Just try to breathe, Dean," Fay said softly and held on to his shoulders when his head dropped forward. "Don't you make us carry you too."

"I'm not pickin' him up too." Jody came into the living room and watched Dean trying to get his head back up. She gave him a lopsided grin. "He whines."

"Do not… whine," Dean lifted his head finally, feeling the need to pass out easing. "Ge'me up."

Jody slipped in on his other side and took his right shoulder while Fay took his left. They braced him and pulled together until Dean was standing, swaying between them. "Dean?"

Dean nodded and leaned heavily on the women. "Oh… ok. I'm… I'm good." He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. "Wish my ears would stop… stop ringing." He froze and jerked his head up. "That's not my ears!"

Jody whipped her head toward the hall and realized she was hearing it too. "Oh, my God. Is that…"

"The EMF. Sammy!" Dean lurched into motion, only keeping his feet thanks to Fay's grip on him. He could hear the EMF meter whining from the bedroom, and Jody broke into a run.

Jody slid to a stop in the hall, catching herself on the door of the bedroom and ran inside. She stopped and stared for just a second as a ghost materialized beside Sam's bed and leaned down over the younger Winchester. "No!" she shouted and lunged over the floor for Dean's bag. She tore the shotgun out of the bag, growled with frustration and dropped it when she saw the old, iron poker just under it. She tore it out of the bag and whipped it up through the spirit as its hands reached for Sam's chest. The ghost dispersed with an angry cry and Jody knelt there catching her breath. "Holy crap."

"Sam!" Dean appeared in the door with Fay and looked at Jody on the floor. "What's goin' on?"

"It was here. Ghost." Jody got to her feet and sat on the bed beside Sam. "He's fine. It didn't get to him." She turned to look at Dean as he came unsteadily into the room. "Just how bad did you piss this guy off?"

Dean shook his head and moved so he could see his brother. "You sure? He does not need to go another round with that bastard."

"Yeah. Sit already." Jody stood and took Dean's shoulder again. With Fay's help, they got Dean into the recliner next to the bed and let him rest back into it. Jody had pulled it right next to the bed, knowing that Dean would want to be close to his brother, and she smiled knowingly when he stretched an arm out to brush his fingers over Sam's shoulder.

"Salt the damn room already," Dean said angrily and then blew out a breath at the look on Fay's face. "Sorry. Please."

Jody handed the iron rod to Dean and bent to the bag. "I'm gonna veto the shotgun. Cops will hear it and then we'll really be in deep." She took out the container of salt and went to the window behind Dean. "Fay, you ever desecrated a grave before?"

"What? Jody, no." Dean grabbed hold of her arm when she leaned back from the window.

"Dean. He's coming after Sam for whatever reason. He needs to be taken care of." Jody smiled at him and moved away. "Besides, this won't be the first time I tossed salt and lighter fluid in a grave. Bobby…" She stopped and smiled sadly then shook herself. "Anyway. Come on, Fay. Let's make our boys safe."

"Dammit." Dean groaned and looked over at his brother. "This job sucks, Sammy. We are takin' a week off after this."

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Dean woke with a start, unsure what had caught his attention and then felt a hand gripping his on the bed beside him. "Sammy?" Dean turned his head and sure enough, Sam was awake and looking at him.

"Dean? Where…" Sam closed his eyes and shook his head. "Did I see…Fay?"

Dean chuckled and nodded. "Yeah, buddy. You're in her bed." He grinned at Sam's surprised look. "She patched us up. Jody's here too."

"Jody?" Sam rose up a little and then dropped back with a groan. "Wh… where?"

"They went to finish toasting old Jack. Son of a bitch showed up here," Dean told him and shifted, trying to cover the moan of pain the movement caused. He looked at his watch and frowned. "They've been gone a while. Maybe I should…" He stopped in the act of trying pointlessly to move out of the chair when he heard the back door open and bang closed. "'Bout damn time. Jody? Fay?"

"Here, Dean." Jody appeared in the bedroom door. She was sweat-streaked and dirty but gave him a grin. "That was entertaining. Fay should be back in a minute."

"What happened?" Dean looked at her carefully and didn't see any injuries which was a relief.

"Well, we needed to distract your two pet police officers." Jody rolled her eyes and sat on the bed next to Sam's hip and smiled at him. "If they were in my department, I'd suspend 'em both for being criminally stupid." She rolled her eyes. "Fay went off in the woods with a sheet and made a few noises. They went running."

"Holy crap. They fell for that?" Dean laughed softly.

"Oh, yeah, they did." Jody nodded. "While they were gone, I got to the grave. Got him covered in salt and lighter fluid right as he showed up, the bastard." She grinned at Dean. "I let him watch me toss the matches in. He looked a little pissed before he disappeared."

"Knew I liked you, Jody." Dean said with a laugh.

"You're alright?" Sam asked in a weary voice and fingered her dirty sleeve.

"Well, then we sort of had to run. Turns out my night vision ain't what it used to be." Jody chuckled ruefully. "Took a few dumps in the dirt before I got back to the house and…" She stopped when the back door opened again. "There she is. I'm gonna go make sure she's ok."

Dean watched her leave and gave a lopsided smile. "She's good." He look up at his brother and frowned. "Sam? How you feelin'? You're awful quiet for someone who oughta be askin' a hundred different questions."

"Tired," Sam whispered and closed his eyes. He hurt as well. Every inch of him ached, and worse, he could feel the unnatural heat of a fever beginning to burn through him. "Kinda can't keep… keep m'eyes open."

"Shit. Fay!" Dean yelled and tried to sit up further to reach his brother. "Dammit!" He managed to roll slightly to his left and got a hand on Sam's bare arm. He was still wearing only his jeans with the bandages making a patchwork over the left side of his chest and arm and his arm was warm. Too warm. "Sammy?"

Sam rolled his head toward Dean's voice again, fighting the need to let go and slip back into sleep. He cracked his eyes open and frowned. "S'at sound?"

Dean's mouth fell open in shock as the EMF meter in his bag started whining again. "JODY!" He bellowed it and wrapped an arm across his chest with the resulting wave of pain. Dean fumbled beside him and found the iron rod Jody had given him earlier. He brought it up as the temperature in the room dropped and his breath frosted out between his lips. "Son of a bitch! How?" Jody said they'd salted and burned the bastard, and Dean couldn't understand as Jack's ghost materialized with a hollow roar of rage.

"Dean!" Sam saw the spirit appear and desperation had him rolling to his right side, trying to get between his wounded brother and the angry ghost even as it caused pain to sing through his body.

Dean couldn't get his body out of the recliner. His chest wasn't listening to him as he tried to move, and he snarled in rage when the ghost moved toward Sam yet again. "No, you don't! He threw the iron rod so it sailed through the ghost as Jody and Fay appeared in the door. Jack screamed and dispersed yet again as the rod clattered to the floor. "Jody! I thought you said you took care of him!"

"I did!" Jody stared at the spot where the ghost had been and shook her head. "This isn't… I mean he can't be!"

"Dean." Sam gasped and hunched over onto his side. "Gotta be… tied to… to something else."

"Shit!" Dean eased back into the chair and grabbed the arm Sam held out in his direction. "He's got a fever, Fay."

"Sit back already before you puncture something," Fay glared at Dean and pointed an imperious finger at him as she went to Sam and sat next to him. "Hey, Sam. Let's get you on your back, alright?" She gently pushed and rolled until she had him lying flat again and brushed a hand over his forehead. "Damn. Jody, could you grab my bag from the living room?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks," Fay let her leave and put her attention back on Sam. She started peeling back the bandages to look at the wounds under each and frowned when she got to the thick gauze taped over his stomach. She pressed careful fingers around the wound and frowned harder as fresh blood welled out and it felt swollen. "Sorry, Sam." She whispered when he grunted in pain and pushed harder.

"The ghost is attached to something else. Could be a lock of friggin hair or a…" Dean swallowed his emotions back and shook his head. "…a flask even. Anything. We need to search his house."

Fay shook her head and didn't look up when Jody returned. "I don't think you do."

"Son of a bitch got in here past the salt lines!" Dean yelled and curled in on himself again, panting through the pain. "How… how in hell's he do that?"

"Because what he's attached to is already here," Fay said softly and looked up to meet Dean's eyes. "There's something still inside him. I can feel it." She shook her head sadly and peeled the bandage away from Sam's stomach. "I missed it earlier, but I can feel it now around the swelling."

"Wait. Wait." Jody set the medical kit beside Fay on the bed and put a hand over her eyes. "Are you saying…"

"He fell in the grave." Dean groaned and looked over at his brother. "Holy crap."

"There's a _piece_ of the dead guy inside him?" Jody asked incredulously and turned a bit green. "Ok. That's kind of disgusting."

"Probably got shoved in along with the wood when he landed on the coffin." Fay pulled her bag over and started pulling out what she'd need. "I've got to open him up enough to get in there and get it and hope it hasn't punctured anything important. Might want to have 911 on speed dial here."

"Do you have anything else in this house that's iron, Fay?" Jody asked and retrieved the iron rod Dean had thrown earlier. She handed it back to him. "I don't think the dead guy's just gonna sit back while you do this."

"Get the salt and lighter fluid ready too." Dean ordered and held out an arm. "And get over here and get me the hell up."

"Dean…"

"Get me up." Dean cut Jody off. "She's gonna be diggin' in his gut, and we got a pissed off ghost floating around. I'm gonna be on the damn bed with him. Do it."

Jody shook her head fondly and took Dean's arm. "Alright, stubborn pain in the ass."

"There's a collection of iron pokers in the hall closet," Fay said and smiled, shrugging. "I'm having a fireplace put in next month."

Jody groaned with the effort of getting Dean out of the chair and then helped him turn to sit on the side of the bed. She pushed until she had him sitting back against the wall next to Sam's head. "You good there?"

"Yeah. Go. Hurry." Dean put a hand on the side of his brother's neck and looked down as Sam blinked blearily up at him. "You follow all this?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah." He grimaced and reached his right arm up, grateful when Dean grabbed hold and gave him something to hang on to. "Gotta get… piece of Jack out… out of me." He turned a weak glare up to his brother. "Don't you… don't you tease me."

Dean chuckled and shook his head. "No promises, Sammy. I'm only human."

"Alright. Sam I need you to hold as still as you can." Fay put a hand on the unwounded side of his chest and waited for his nod. "I'll go as fast as I can."

Jody returned with an iron fireplace poker in each hand and stood by the door, ready for the spirit if he came back while Fay worked. She set a can of lighter fluid and Fay's salt shaker from the kitchen on the floor. "Really wish we could just shoot the bastard."

Dean nodded, looking longingly at his sawed-off shotgun on the floor. He tore his gaze away and gave Fay a nod. "Do it." He felt Sam tense with Fay's hands on his stomach and put his other hand on his brother's shoulder. "You could pass out again. Now would be a good time."

"Wish… wish I would," Sam gave a short, breathless laugh and flinched as Fay drizzled antiseptic over his stomach. "Shit, Fay. S'cold!"

Fay smiled. "I know. Just hang on now."

Sam shamelessly squeezed his brother's hand in his own with the first bite of the scalpel in his stomach. Even whatever topical anesthetic Fay had used couldn't hide the pain, and he fought the urge to roll away from the thing hurting him. There was a strange sort of wheezing, whimper filling the room and it took Sam several minutes to realize that he was the one making it while one of Fay's hands pressed hard into his hip to hold him still.

Jody watched and suffered for Sam while Fay cut into him. "Jesus," she breathed and then tensed as the EMF in Dean's bag began to whine again. "Here he comes."

"Take it easy, Sammy," Dean whispered down, but Sam was beyond hearing him at that point. He winced with the powerful grip Sam had on his hand and squeezed back just as hard to help anchor him. There was no way this whole scenario wouldn't press a few buttons for Sam, and he didn't want him flipping out while Fay had her hand inside him.

"Slippery little… dammit!" Fay felt carefully into the wound she'd made larger with her fingers and could feel the foreign object slipping as she nudged it. She took her hand out and grabbed the forceps. "Little longer." She pushed them in, angling for where she'd felt it and clasped the tongs gently around it until she could pull it free. She hunched over Sam protectively when she felt a cold wind at her back and then Jody's hand was there.

"Keep going." Jody moved back again, having run the ghost through with the poker before he could fully materialize.

"Hang on, buddy," Dean squeezed Sam's shoulder tighter when he cried out suddenly.

"Got it!" Fay pulled the offending object out of Sam's stomach and stared in surprise. "It's… it's a finger bone. Jesus!"

"Give it here!" Jody took the bloody bone in her hand, swallowing hard against the need to throw up, and tossed it to the floor. She knelt and hurriedly dumped salt over top of it and then squirted it with lighter fluid. She was digging her lighter out of her pocket when the dead man reappeared with a roar. She spun the wheel on the lighter and put it to the bone, watching as the flames burst to life. The ghost of Jack Kreacher howled angrily and went up in flames beside her. She slumped in relief and leaned against the foot of the bed. "Sam?"

"He's alright, I think." Fay leaned up and put a hand to Sam's neck. Somehow, the boy was still conscious, though heaving for air and collapsed against his brother's hip. He was covered in a cold sweat and she could feel his pulse racing under her fingers. "Ok. One crisis averted. Now for the next. Jody, grab the ice in my freezer and, uh… ziplock baggies under the sink. We need to get this fever down." She leaned back and wiped her bloody hands off on the sheet she knew she was going to be throwing away. "I need to clean this out and stitch it up."

"Go on. He's good," Dean said calmly and felt Sam squeeze his hand in agreement though he didn't open his eyes. Sitting through stitches was something they were far too used to. "Slow it down, Sam, before you hyperventilate and pass out." His brother frowned slightly in irritation but did work at slowing his frantic breathing.

Fay quickly and efficiently put a small line of stitches in Sam's stomach after cleaning the wound a last time. He was boneless in the bed by the time she was done and pulled a blanket up over his legs. "All done, Sam. You're going to be fine."

"Here." Jody held out a bag filled with ice and a little water, watching while Fay set it on one side of Sam's neck then handed her the other. "Hey, Dean. You wanna get your butt back in that chair?"

"No." Dean shook his head and stayed right where he was. "Actually found a position where my ribs aren't killin' me." He smiled at Jody. "I ain't movin'."

"Right. Ok, then." Jody didn't call him out on it, on the certain knowledge that Dean's ribs were no doubt screaming at him and his refusal to move was solely to stay beside his brother. "I'll just go start some coffee brewing."

Fay pulled the blanket up a little higher over Sam and looked at them both. "You know, you boys never fail to make my life interesting."

"Fay," Dean sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry we landed on your doorstep tonight."

Fay waved a hand and stood, packing up her medical kit. "Forget it. I'm glad it was me." She smiled and set the bag on the dresser. "If it hadn't been, you boys would have been in some dire straits." She patted Sam's leg under the blanket and then bent to drop a kiss on Dean's cheek. "Rest. I'll bring you some coffee in a bit if you behave."

Dean grinned as she stepped out of the room and looked down at his brother again. Sam still had hold of his hand and Dean chuckled. "You gonna let go of me anytime soon, princess?"

"Bite… bite me, Dean," Sam said in a hoarse whisper, but he did open his eyes briefly to look up and reassure his brother that he was alright. He closed them again and let out a long, shuddering breath. "Tired."

"Get some sleep." Dean patted his shoulder and leaned his own head back against the wall. His ribs were burning but he didn't want to go back to the chair, not yet anyway. "We're takin' a week off after this, dude."

"No… no argument," Sam whispered and fell into sleep, vaguely aware that Dean was still holding onto his hand and smiled.

"Bitch," Dean said softly, fondly and kept hold of his little brother, for however long he could.

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_The End. _

**Next Up: **manonairs


	12. Chapter 12 for manonairs

**Title:** Reader's Special: Fourth Edition - One Shot Reward Fic Collection

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** A collection of 1 Shot Reward Fics for Prompters of my Reader's Special: Fourth Edition. Features many seasons, hurt/limp/awesome/caring!Sam/Dean/John/Bobby See each chapter for specific info for each 1 shot reward fic.

**Author's Note:** The Reader's Special: Fourth Edition was a smashing success! Prompters of the story were offered a One Shot Reward story of their choice. These are they. None of the chapters contained in this collection are connected. Each one is a stand-alone one shot per the Prompters request. Thank you to all of you who prompted the Reader's Special! You were fantastic as always!

**Chapter Info:** For manonairs - My prompt is for pre season 4 (no angels) Sam who sustains a temporary loss of sight (perhaps a week or month), your choice how, but if Sam wakes up totally freaked (and temporarily alone), that would be awesome sauce. Cue lots of Sam being uber klutzy running into walls or tumbling down stairs, with an over protective Dean, but Sam somehow manages to save Dean from the monster of the week he (of course), took on solo, reinstating his BAMF status whilst being blind. Bobby and/or Jody cameos would be nice. Thanks :)

**A/N: **You got it! I set this one in season 2…. Oh, somewhere. Early on I suppose. Lol I hope this lives up to what you were hoping for! And yeah… this one got away from me a little too, like the last chapter. :D AND Thank you Xenascully for thinking of a way for blind!Sam to be a BAMF and save the day!

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

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Dean looked over at his brother some twenty feet away as they neared the house where the witch was hiding. The closer they moved with no sign that she'd noticed their presence, the more nervous he became and his ingrained need to protect his brother started to nag at him. He didn't like that they were so far apart. Dean shook his head and caught Sam's eyes when his brother glanced over at him. He nodded to the front door and Sam tapped his own chest and pointed to the back. Dean grimaced and gave him a nod against his better judgment. He knew Sam was no longer a kid and a great hunter in his own right, but it still made him twitchy when they were separated and he couldn't watch his brother's back. He watched Sam step over something at the back of the house. He took a step toward him but Sam looked up and gave him a shake of his head to say it was nothing; maybe just a log or something, he hoped.

"Dammit," Dean whispered and rolled the tension out of his shoulders. He moved to the front of the house and let Sam vanish from his sight. He moved silently along the house and to the porch steps. Dean bent and took a good look at them, checking for any obvious sign they were trapped before he stepped up and moved toward the door. There was no way she didn't know they were coming. They'd run into her earlier in the night and chased her off her last victim before she could cut the poor guy's heart out. She knew her time was up, so why in hell wasn't she hitting at them already? Dean reached a hand out for the knob on the front door. He gave it a turn and scowled, finding it unlocked. He liked this less and less as the seconds went by, but he was committed now. He had to go in because Sam would already be at the back. Dean turned the knob further and froze. He jerked his head around when he heard a rustling sound behind him in the woods. Dean narrowed his eyes and then gasped as a blinding flash of light erupted behind him from within the house. He slammed his eyes closed and went to his knees, covering his head as it lit up the night behind his eyes. A moment later, it died away and Dean blinked the spots out of his vision.

"Holy crap!" Dean rose and looked back at the house. It was dark again and the front door stood open. He leveled his gun in front of him in both hands and walked inside, figuring their stealthy advance was shot to hell now.

"Dean!"

Sam's voice came from the other side of the house and Dean heard nothing but panic in it. "Sammy?" Dean moved quickly through the house, alert for any sign of the witch, but he didn't see her anywhere. "Sam!" He moved through a living room and into a hall and heard his brother call for him again. "You see her?" Sam didn't answer him, and Dean's fear went up another notch.

Dean moved down the hall and finally heard Sam's heavy breathing through the door on his left. "Sam. Talk to me."

"She… she was in here before. I think…" Sam's voice trailed off on a hitch of emotion. "She looked dead."

"Well, make sure, dammit!" Dean reached the door and turned into the kitchen. He stopped and stared, finding the witch lying on the floor across from him and looking very dead and his little brother kneeling just inside the back door with his face in his hands. "Shit! She tag you? Sam?" He dropped to his knees next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Dude, look at me."

"I…" Sam lowered his hands and raised his head and swallowed hard. "I can't."

"Huh?" Dean watched his brother's head turn toward him and couldn't understand why he sounded so… crushed. "Sammy, talk to me. What's goin' on?"

"There was a light." Sam shook his head and blinked furiously. "Soon as I opened the door, and, uh, it was so bright and I can't… Dean." Sam slapped a hand out, colliding with his brother and grabbed a fistful of his jacket. "Dean, I can't see."

The last came out as a horrified whisper and Dean's jaw dropped open in shock. Dean took hold of Sam's jaw and turned his face toward him so he could look into Sam's blue-green eyes. They looked perfectly normal to him, if maybe a little glassy. "When you say you can't see…"

"Black. It's just black. Everything's black!" Sam's voice rose quickly with panic and he tried to pull it back. He was a hunter and he knew injuries were part of the job description, something to be dealt with, not panicked over. Hell, he'd been badly hurt in such a variety of ways over the years growing up he couldn't even remember them all, but this was different. He'd be less scared if he was laying in the middle of the woods somewhere gushing blood, because that could be fixed. Dean could fix it. But this…he could feel the fear threatening to overwhelm him again and he tightened his grip on his brother's jacket.

"Ok. Ok, take it easy." Dean dropped his hand to the side of his brother's neck and put his gun up. "Let's get you outta here and we'll figure this out. You're gonna be fine."

Sam nodded, but wasn't sure he believed him. He let Dean pull him to his feet and kept blinking, hoping that his vision would come back… that anything would come back, even a flash of light. Something. "Dean."

"Deep breaths, Sam. Slow it down." Dean could hear his brother's panicked breaths and wasn't sure Sam was even aware of it. "Ok, come on. Here we go." He took hold of Sam's arms and guided him out the back door, leading him carefully down the steps on the back porch and into the grass. "You see anything yet?" Dean remembered the light and how it had nearly blinded him while he was turned away from it with his eyes closed. That Sam had received the full blast in the face scared him on a visceral level.

Sam shook his head and swallowed around the lump of emotion in his throat. "It's… it'll go away, right? I mean it will. I'll be fine."

"Yeah, Sammy. You will," Dean said it like a promise and meant to do everything in his power to make sure of it. "We're gonna go back to the motel. I'm gonna call Bobby and we're gonna figure this out. I promise."

"Ok," Sam said softly. He let his head drop as they walked, trusting Dean to keep him from walking into a tree and put a hand over his eyes. "Head hurts."

"Not surprised. Pick your feet up a little higher," Dean coached and moved them through the woods back to the Impala. Sam walked like he was in a daze and Dean couldn't help but wonder how he'd handle it himself if his vision suddenly went dark. He shivered and watched where they walked a little more carefully. "Ok, we're here. Hang on."

Sam heard the Impala's door open and let Dean push him down with a hand on top of his head to keep him from banging into the frame of the car. The familiar smell of the car helped settle his panic a little but not enough to stop the fear bouncing in his gut. He was in danger of throwing up if he couldn't get a handle on it soon. The complete darkness though he knew his eyes were open was incredibly disorienting, and Sam felt like he didn't even know which way was up anymore. The door creaked closed beside him and Sam held his breath in the sudden silence, waiting in the dark until finally he heard the driver's side door open and Dean's presence slid in beside him.

"Take a breath already, dude," Dean said watched Sam heave one out and draw in another. "We're gonna fix this." He made himself believe that as he turned on the car and started driving but some small part of him couldn't quite trust what he was saying. The drive back to the motel felt longer than the drive out had. He was just turning into the parking lot when Sam finally spoke.

"Would you say something please?" Sam turned his head to his left, wishing he could see Dean even for a second. "It's too quiet."

"We're back at the motel." Dean drove to their room and parked in front of it as he turned the engine off.

Sam flinched in the sudden silence and then jumped when Dean's hand landed on his shoulder. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. I'm gonna get out and come around the car, alright?" Dean opened his door and took his hand away from his brother. "Ten seconds."

Sam nodded and felt along his own door for the handle. A lifetime of practice made it easy, and he gripped the metal, pushed his door open, and put out a leg. He pulled himself out of the seat and stood and then hung his head because he couldn't do anything else. He couldn't even walk to the motel room on his own and it terrified him.

"Here I am, buddy." Dean took Sam's arm and pulled him away from the car. He shoved the door closed and led him to the motel. "Step up," he warned before Sam could trip on the small step to the sidewalk. Dean opened the door and steered Sam inside and toward the little table. "Ok, here you go. Chair right in front of you."

Sam reached out and felt in front of him. His knuckles bumped the back of the chair and he grabbed hold until he steadied and turned, lowering himself down. He wobbled a little, almost missing the seat and blew out an annoyed breath. "This sucks, Dean."

"I know. I'm gonna grab our gear and call Bobby." Dean patted his brother's shoulder and headed back out to the car while he took his phone out of his pocket. He dialed Bobby and opened the trunk.

Sam held his hands up. He could feel himself wiggling his fingers and feel his breath puffing back to him as he put his hand in front of his face, but there was nothing, only the darkness. "God," he whispered and dropped his hands to his lap. He tried to picture the motel room in his head as he heard Dean's voice outside and stood shakily from the chair.

"Bobby, I dunno what the hell happened." Dean leaned against the door of the Impala and scrubbed a hand through his hair. "There was this flash of light. Sam thinks she was already dead when he came in the back door, but that's the last thing he saw before he… Bobby, he's blind." He pulled the phone away from his ear when Bobby shouted in surprise. "That light was like lookin' at the damn sun or something, Bobby, and… I don't know. I had my back to the house when it happened, but Sam… man, he was lookin' right at it."

"He got any vision?" Bobby sat back in his chair with a thump and looked around his cluttered library. "Anything at all?"

"No." Dean looked into the open door to their room and frowned. "And the idiot's tryin' to walk around on his own right now. Bobby… I need help."

"I'll be there tomorrow," Bobby told him surely. "Son, just… you keep an eye on him. We'll fix this."

Dean snapped his phone closed, grabbed up the bags and walked into the room to find his brother standing there in the middle of the room looking lost. "Sam? What'cha doin'?"

Sam huffed out an irritated breath and threw his arms up. "I need to take a piss and I can't find the damn bathroom!" It came out more of a yell than he meant it to and he dropped his head. "Sorry."

"Ok, calm down." Dean tossed the bags on the nearest bed and then took Sam's arm. He led him into the bathroom and turned him to face the toilet. "Right in front of you. You, uh… you need, you know… help or anything?"

"Oh, my God don't make this worse," Sam groaned and pushed Dean away from him. "Close the door."

Dean chuckled and stepped out, pulling the door shut behind him. "Just give a yell when you're done!" He stood for a moment and looked around the room and tried to calm his own hammering nerves. "Shit." He kicked the end of one of the beds and blew out a breath. He turned back to the bathroom when he heard a curse and then the toilet flushed and he smiled. "That's one thing you don't need your eyes to find, huh, Sammy?" His grin when his brother banged the door open faltered with the knowledge that Sam couldn't see it, in spite of the bitch-face he was shooting in his older brother's direction.

"Nice, Dean." Sam put a hand out and took a step forward.

Dean put a smile back on, because one of them had to try and remain calm about it, and took Sam's arm. "Oh, relax, Mr. Magoo. You're gonna be fine. Bed. Sit." He gave Sam a gentle push until his brother dropped and sat on the side of the far bed.

"What did Bobby say?" Sam realized he was blinking furiously and made himself close his eyes.

"He's comin' out. He'll be here tomorrow and we're gonna figure this out, Sam. You know that, right?" Dean knelt in front of his brother and looked at his closed eyes. "This ain't gonna last forever."

"What if it does?" Sam asked softly and resisted the urge to reach out and grab hold of Dean just to have something solid to hold onto. "What if… what if this is how I'm gonna be now? What then?" He took a deep breath and could hear Dean's harsh breathing in front of him. "I can't… I can't hunt like this, Dean. I can't back you up."

"Shut up." Dean grabbed Sam's shoulders and gave him a shake. "This WILL get better, Sammy. Whatever it takes, we'll fix this. We may not even have to do anything. I've heard of people being temporarily blinded by bright flashes right in their face and it goes away." Sam looked at him doubtfully, and Dean took a deep breath. "And if we…" He ducked his head and swallowed before looking at him again. "If we can't, then we'll figure something else out. I ain't leavin' you behind, little brother. You hold onto that, alright?"

Sam took a shaky breath and nodded. He swallowed back the tears that were threatening and managed a small smile. "Yeah."

"Good." Dean patted Sam's knee and stood, and the moment he did, his stomach growled.

Sam gave a surprised laugh and shook his head. "You better go get food."

"Naw, I'm good," Dean easily brushed it off, not wanting to leave Sam alone.

"Dude. I'm hungry too, alright?" Sam pushed back on the bed until he was leaning against the wall and tried to look calm. "Just turn the tv on to give me something to listen to and you go grab food. I'll be fine on my own for a little while."

Dean stared at his brother and it was clear that Sam was afraid of being alone and afraid of admitting it. He sighed and nodded. "Yeah, alright. Twenty minutes." He grabbed the remote off the table and flicked the tv on. "Here." He grabbed Sam's hand and put the remote in it. "Don't trip over shit while I'm gone."

"God, you're such a jerk," Sam groaned.

Dean smiled and made himself walk to the door. "Bitch," he retorted quickly and left, making sure Sam heard the door close, and then he leaned against it for a moment while Sam's words spun through his head. What if Sam was right and this was how it was going to be? What if he couldn't fix this for his little brother? Dean shook his head angrily and went to the car. He was not going to let this happen to Sam.

Dean was true to his word and only gone twenty minutes. He pulled up in front of the motel room and climbed out with the bag of food. He went to the door and keyed it open and stopped as he saw Sam hunched over a chair and holding his knee. Dean opened his mouth to say something and then froze as Sam's breathing hitched and tears started rolling down his face. It took him only a moment to shake off the paralysis and then he was moving. "Sam." He banged the door shut behind him and saw Sam flinch, but he didn't stop crying, didn't seem to be able to as his breathing became more labored.

"Ok. Ok. Hey. Come on." Dean set the bag on the table, grabbed his brother's arms, and pushed him carefully into the chair. "This ain't the end of the world, Sam."

"Screw you! I'm fuckin' helpless like this. Can't even walk across a freakin' hotel room by myself." Sam said angrily and instantly regretted the words. He scrubbed his hands over his face in a bid for self-control. "Dean, I…"

"I know, alright? Forget it." Dean patted Sam's shoulder and left his hand there so he would know he wasn't alone. "Pretty sure I'd be chewing your head off by now if it was me."

Sam gave a watery laugh and nodded. "Blood on the walls, yeah."

"Alright, shuddup." Dean smiled and patted his shoulder again before he sat down across from him. "Still hungry? Never mind. You're gonna eat anyway."

Sam composed himself and smiled, listening to Dean open a bag. He sniffed deeply and rolled his eyes. "Why do I smell burgers and onions?"

Dean snorted. "'Cause they're awesome and I'm hungry. Here."

Sam held out his hand and frowned as he felt the long, narrow foil package in his hand. "That's… not burger shaped."

"Ooh, puttin' that college education to use, Sammy," Dean grinned. "It's a rabbit food wrap or salad wrap or something." He chuckled at the surprise on Sam's face. "Shuddup and eat already."

Sam sniffed, dangerously close to another loss of control with the gesture but held it in check and smiled. "Thanks." It touched him that Dean had gotten him something that didn't involve trying to use silverware blind. They ate quietly for a while to the sound of crinkling wrappers and Dean's foot occasionally bumping one of his own, like he was reminding Sam where he was. Sam balled up his now empty wrapper and put his hands in his lap with a frown. "Maybe we should, I dunno, go to a hospital? Maybe there's something they can do."

"Sammy." Dean sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Whatever the hell happened in that house, it wasn't natural. That was a spell. My money's on some other magical crap bein' what gets you your sight back."

Sam nodded and gave a small smile. "Alright."

"We'll fix this," Dean said firmly, as much for himself as for Sam and hoped he wasn't lying.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**_

Sam sat on his bed, listening to Bobby and Dean talk and felt a little more adrift with every passing moment as they seemed to forget that he was in the room or that being blind did not mean his mind was impaired.

"Forget it," Sam said quickly and could picture both their heads jerking in surprise to look at him. "You're not leaving me here."

"Sam." Dean waved Bobby off and went to sit on the other bed across from his brother. "We gotta go search that bitch's house, and you are not comin' back in there!"

"Damage is already done, Dean." Sam wished so badly to see his brother's face… to see anything. The sinking feeling in his stomach hadn't gone away overnight. It had worsened with every hour that went by and nothing changed. He needed to have control over something, anything, and he'd take it where he could get it. "I'll stay in the car if you really want me to, Dean, but I am not staying here alone."

"There could be more traps like the one that…" Bobby blew out a breath and watched Sam's expressive face. There was no way the boy had any idea just how much fear he was showing right then, but Bobby could see it clearly; Sam was terrified, and if Bobby was honest with himself… so was he. "It's just not safe for you, Sam. You should stay here."

Sam shook his head. "No. I can't… I don't want to be alone, alright?" It hurt a little to admit that, but he was out of options. "I mean it. I'm coming. I'll stay in the car. Hell, you can handcuff me to the trunk if it'll make you feel better, but I need to do this!"

"Alright, Sammy. Alright." Dean patted Sam's knee and gave his brother a moment to calm down. He'd come close to yelling that last, and Dean understood the panic Sam had to be feeling. "But your ass is not leavin' the car. We clear?"

"Clear," Sam agreed and stood. He was ready to go and get it over with. He needed there to be a way to fix his sight, and he wanted to be there if they found it.

The drive back out to the witch's house was surreal for Sam, unable to see anything and having to listen to the engine, Dean speaking, the radio on low, and even the sound of the tires on the asphalt as they drove, then the way the sound changed when they moved onto the dirt road leading into the forest. Through all of it, Dean kept up a constant chatter, just filling the car with the sound of his voice to keep Sam grounded. He turned his head toward the driver's seat when they stopped and raised a brow.

"Yeah, we're here." Dean looked past his brother to the witch's house and shook his head. It didn't look any more inviting during the day than it had the night before. "I mean it, dude. In the car. We find anything and we need you, one of us'll come get you."

"I know." Sam sighed and leaned back in the seat. "Where exactly am I gonna go, Dean?"

"Uh huh. Stay in the car, Sammy." Dean knew he was being a bit of an ass, but if anyone was going to be stubborn enough to walk out blind somewhere, it was his little brother. "I need to cuff you to the door?"

Sam snorted and slapped his arm out toward the driver's seat, grinning when he hit Dean and heard his brother grunt. "I don't need to see to pick that lock, you idiot." Growing up, John had insisted they practice that particular skill in dark basements or blindfolded until it was second nature to them both.

Dean rubbed his chest and smiled as he opened his door. "Just checking. We'll be back."

Sam listened to him leave and heard Bobby's voice outside the car. It killed him to just sit there tamely while they walked into potential danger. He knew that he'd seen the witch's body before the light had flashed, and Dean had said she was dead as well, but Sam couldn't help the crawling feeling at the back of his skull that said something bad was going to happen. He rolled his window down and listened to his brother and Bobby's voices fading as they approached the house and left him behind alone.

"This sucks," Sam muttered to himself and kept his head tilted toward the window as their voices stopped. All that was left was the sound of the Impala's cooling engine, the breeze that knocked the boughs of the trees gently together, and the twittering of birds nearby. He blew out a breath and tried to relax; tried not to feel so cut adrift. Sam debated calling Dean on his cell and mentally kicked himself for that. The last thing Dean and Bobby needed was an untimely distraction inside the dead witch's house.

Sam wasn't sure how long he sat there listening to the forest sounds. Telling time when you couldn't do a simple thing like see your watch was surprisingly difficult. He shifted in his seat and starting counting seconds in his head. He was just nearing two minutes when he realized that the only sound still outside the car was the wind; the birds had stopped.

"No." Sam's sense of 'wrong' vibrated up his spine and he fumbled for the handle, finding it and shoving his door open. "Dean?" He stood there holding on to the car and couldn't decide what to do. He considered his phone again, but if there were trouble, Dean wouldn't answer it and put Sam at risk. Sam spun and ducked back into the car. He climbed over the bench seat and felt along the dash as he banged his head on the steering wheel. A lifetime of practice allowed him to find the release for the trunk and he pulled it.

Sam scrambled back out and followed the smooth, metal contours of the Impala's body back to the trunk. He shoved it up and closed his eyes, though he didn't need to as he pictured the trunk and opened the hidden panel. He easily found the sawed-off shotgun and propped it into place out of habit. Sam let his memory make the moves for him as his fingers travelled over the ordered mess Dean kept the trunk in until his hand closed around the handle of his Taurus. He grabbed it up, knocked the shotgun down, and let the trunk thud closed as he turned to his right toward where he knew the house to be.

"Ok. I can… I can do this," Sam whispered and started walking. It felt a bit like walking on dry land after being at sea for days. The uneven ground seemed to roll beneath his feet as he moved and more than once threatened to take him down. It was unnerving to not even be sure if he was headed in the right direction, and twice he almost stopped and turned back, thinking he was overreacting when a gunshot echoed from ahead of him and to his left.

"Dean," Sam forced himself to whisper rather than shout it out. He didn't want whoever, or whatever, was inside the house to know he was there. He turned slightly to follow the sound while his heart threatened to beat out of his chest. Sam kept his left arm straightened in front of him, and felt a small measure of relief when he bumped the side of the house. He used the wall as a guide and followed it around until he found the porch.

Sam remembered there being a window to the right of the front door, and he ducked low, walking in an unsteady crouch over the bottom of the porch steps until he reached the other side. He eased up onto the porch and felt carefully for the front door. He swallowed hard around the lump of fear and doubt in his throat. He couldn't afford it. His brother and Bobby were in trouble, he was sure of it; could feel it like a bell ringing in his head.

He found the edge of the door and pushed, unsurprised when it opened quietly. Dean must not have closed it all the way when they'd entered the house. Sam stepped inside and listened so hard his ears were ringing, but now he was truly out of his depth. He'd never seen more of the house than the kitchen at the back. Sam remembered walking from the kitchen to the front door with Dean guiding his steps and tried to use that now. He moved slightly to his right when he heard nothing and kept his left hand out in front of him until he found a wall. He followed slowly along, listening for any sound or sign, knowing that something deadly could be lurking silently five feet away from him waiting to attack and he wouldn't even know.

Sam jerked to a stop when his right foot scuffed into something on the floor. He sucked in a terrified breath and shook his head. Sam knelt carefully and reached his hand out, then drew it back with a soft gasp when he felt an arm. "Shit," Sam said softly and reached out again. The arm hadn't moved, and he followed up the shirt clad arm to the shoulder and then the head, and Sam's own head swam with fear when he felt the beard. "Bobby." Sam dropped to his knees and got both hands on the older Hunter.

"Bobby?" Sam asked more loudly and felt around his throat until he felt a pulse beating beneath his fingers. He dropped his head to Bobby's chest as he went weak with relief and sucked in a shaky breath. Sam lifted his head back up and gave Bobby's shoulder a shake. "Bobby, wake up. Please, wake up." He shook him harder but there was no response. Whatever had happened, Bobby was down for the count. Sam swallowed, patted the older man's shoulder and made himself get back to his feet. His brother was still in there somewhere.

He moved as carefully as he could around Bobby, using the toes of his shoes to gently nudge against him so he didn't step on him. Sam stopped and braced his free hand on the wall when he heard the sound of a voice. It was a woman's voice, muffled, and seemed to be coming from his right. He moved and followed slowly along the wall until his seeking fingers brushed another door. Sam eased it open soundlessly and heard her voice again, realizing that it was echoing up to him. Stairs. Sam closed his eyes and tried to convince himself he could do this.

Sam eased one foot through the door and felt for the first tread of the stairs. He felt it with his toe and eased down onto it. He took another step and then another, cringing with each soft creak of wood beneath his feet. The woman's voice was still speaking. She sounded angry, and Sam knew she was talking to his brother, though he couldn't make out the words. He went down two more steps and couldn't stop the gasp as pain suddenly lanced into his skull. He wrapped both hands around his head, feeling the cool metal of his gun pressing into his temple and was swept away into a vision.

_Sam was sitting. He stared down into his lap at his jeans and coughed hard. It felt like something had tried to strangle him, he was so familiar with that sensation. He moved his eyes slightly and realized that he wasn't looking at his own feet. Whoever it was wore boots. His eyes dropped again, and Sam's stomach turned as a small, golden amulet swung into his line of sight with his movement and he blinked furiously. He was seeing through his brother's eyes, through Dean._

"_You shouldn't have come back. Stupid boy."_

_Dean looked up slowly at the witch and Sam could feel his brother kicking himself for being caught out._

"_You didn't even check my body before you left here with that other one." The witch laughed. "Lucky you, not being blinded by my spell or I'd have had you both then."_

"_Yeah," Dean said and coughed again as he tried to pull his hands free from the cord binding them at his back. "I'm feelin' real lucky right now, bitch."_

_Sam could feel the bone-deep terror at the back of his brother's mind. It was for him. Dean was suffering with the knowledge that sooner or later, Sam was going to come looking for him and get caught, helpless as he was. He tried to somehow tell Dean that he was there, that he wasn't helpless, but he didn't know how._

"_You should have left well enough alone." The witch moved closer to him and held out a small blade. "I'm going to add your heart to my collection, and when I'm done, I'm going to go upstairs and get that other fool's as well. You're going to…"_

_Dean jerked his head up at the sound of a gasp from the stairs and stared in shock and horror as there was a sudden commotion and his little brother came tumbling down the stairs to land on his back in the cellar. Sam stared at himself on the floor and was horrified. This was what was going to happen to him when he came out of the vision. He was going to fall. He felt the vision beginning to w__ane__ and Sam stared hard at himself. He saw the gun beside his left hand, Dean directly across from him, and the witch standing a few feet away to his left. He __desperately__ tried to commit it all to memory, and then the vision was leaving. Blackness swirled in on him and took away his sight once more._

Sam groaned out a shocked breath through the pain. He tried to not go down another step, but momentum carried him forward. He gasped as he felt his foot miss the step and then the world was turned upside down as he tumbled and rolled. The stairs banged and slammed into his body, and the air punched out of him as he landed on his back on the rough, earthen floor.

"Sammy!" Dean stared in shock at his little brother and, for a moment, wasn't sure if he was alive or dead, and then Sam wheezed in a long breath before bursting into a gasping cough. "Holy crap," he breathed in relief, but it was short-lived as the witch began to chuckle.

"Oh, my. You brought the blinded Hunter back to my house?" She turned to look at Dean with a grin. "What a little idiot you are."

"You stay the hell away from him, you bitch!" Dean strained against his bonds as she turned to look at his brother.

Sam heard it all as he relearned how to breathe and then remembered what he'd seen. It didn't matter that the pain of the vision was still slamming through his skull; if he didn't act, they were all dead. He slid his left hand out and felt the grip of his gun. Sam wrapped his hand around and, trying to remember exactly where she had been, he swung it up into his right hand, aimed and pulled the trigger. The report was deafening and filled the little cellar. Sam heard something heavy hit the floor and he cocked the gun, ready to fire again if he had to.

"Sam, you got her! Holy shit, Sammy!" Dean stared in awe at the witch, now truly dead as Sam's bullet had taken her in the chest. He struggled with the cord around his wrists and looked back at his brother. "You ok to move? Can you get over here?"

Sam let the gun lower and dropped his head back to the floor for a moment. "Yeah. Yeah, I can… I'm comin'." He rolled his side with a loud groan as newly bruised and aching muscles protested while his head swam. He got to his hands and knees and crawled toward where he knew his brother was.

"That's it. Right here, buddy. You're doin' great." Dean couldn't believe Sam had made that shot. "Your sight come back?"

Sam shook his head when he found Dean's legs under his hand and moved up until he found his brother's chest. He fumbled to reach behind him and felt the cord wrapped tight above his hands. "Hang on." It took some work to untie the knots without being able to see them, but he managed and finally had Dean free.

Dean lurched forward and grabbed his brother, wrapping him in a tight hug for a moment. "Scared the hell outta me, Sammy. Jesus." He pushed him back to look at him and took a hard breath. "Bobby, he's, uh… she got him, I think."

Sam smiled and shook his head. "He's upstairs in the hall. He's alive, but I couldn't wake him up."

Dean's entire body sagged in relief and he made himself move. "Ok. Sit tight while I make sure the wicked witch really is dead this time."

Sam nodded and eased to sit on the floor. He listened to his brother moving and let his head fall forward. He'd hoped that with her death, his sight would return. Now that it hadn't, Sam began to realize that he might spend the rest of his life like this and it terrified him.

Dean kicked the witch's hip and then knelt. He pressed his fingers into her neck and smiled. There was no pulse and her sightless eyes stared up at the ceiling. "Good riddance," he said softly and turned back to his little brother. "Hey." Dean went to him where Sam sat, cradling his head in his hands and looking miserable. "You alright? That was a hell of a fall. And a hell of a shot. How the hell did you pull that off? Very Jedi , dude!"

"Vision." Sam brought his head back up slowly and shrugged. "I, uh… I saw through your eyes for just a minute. Enough to see where she was and where my gun was after I fell." He gave a watery laugh as his eyes filled. "Kinda wish I could have avoided that part."

"Ok. Come on." Dean wrapped an arm around Sam's shoulders and slowly pulled him to his feet. Sam swayed and Dean pulled one of his arms over his shoulders. "We're gonna go up and find Bobby, and then I'm torchin' this whole damn house."

"Sounds… sounds like a plan." Sam's voice hitched and he fought the urge to cry.

"It'll be alright, Sam." Dean pulled him to the stairs and then started them up. He moved slowly and let Sam find the next step with his toe each time before they took it. All the while, Sam's shoulders shuddered beneath his arm and he knew his little brother was trying to accept the fact that his vision wasn't coming back. "Almost there." They reached the top, and Dean pulled Sam up the last step and out into the hall. He looked to his left and saw Bobby lying there on his back, unconscious but clearly alive as his chest rose and fell, and another little piece of his world fell back into place. "Gettin' him outta here's gonna be fun if he doesn't wake up. Stay here for a sec."

Sam put a hand out to the wall, using it to keep himself up straight while his head continued to throb with pain from the vision. It seemed to become worse as he listened to Dean moving and he slammed his eyes closed on a low moan. "Crap," he whispered and felt nausea begin to churn in his stomach. The pain roared back to life, and for a moment, Sam thought he was being subjected to yet another vision. Weakness blew through him and took his legs out from under him as he went to his knees. He heard Dean call his name fearfully and Sam opened his eyes. He looked up… and saw his brother running toward him and sliding to his knees in front of him to grab his shoulders. Sam's breath clogged in his chest as tears began to course down his cheeks.

"Sam? Shit, this still from the vision?" Dean palmed the side of his brother's face and looked at his eyes. It took him a second to see through the tears that were suddenly rolling down Sam's face, but his little brother's eyes… were looking directly into his. "Sammy?"

Sam nodded and collapsed forward into his brother as relief seemed to sap the strength from his limbs. He looked over Dean's shoulder at Bobby and the tears came harder as all the fear and hopelessness he'd been trying valiantly to keep in check for the past day was suddenly released.

"Ok, take it easy." Dean rubbed Sam's back, trying to comfort him while he sobbed and didn't begrudge him a single tear. He didn't even want to imagine what it would have felt like if it had been him. "Breathe, Sammy. Come on." Sam's shoulders were hitching under his arms with emotion.

Sam ducked his face into Dean's shoulder and focused on regaining control of his breathing. He swallowed a few times and finally pulled back as he wiped at his face and tried not to feel humiliated for falling apart like that. "Sorry."

"No apologies for this, dude. Holy crap." Dean looked at him, met Sam's eyes and smiled. "Free pass for chick flicks the rest of the day, man. Seriously."

"F'you two are done… huggin' it out… someone wan'get me off'a damn floor?"

Bobby's slurred voice startled both brothers and they chuckled as they turned to look at the older Hunter. Sam rose and went to him, kneeling beside him and looked at Bobby's eyes. "Sorry, Bobby."

"Couple'a idjits leavin' me here while…" Bobby's voice trailed off as it hit him that Sam was looking AT him. His mouth fell open and then a grin split his face. He lurched up off the floor, ignoring his splitting head and grabbed Sam in a gruff hug for just a moment. He coughed sheepishly and let Sam go. "S'good to be seen by you, son."

Sam smiled and nodded. "Good to see anything, Bobby."

"Can we move this chick flick outside so I can torch this place now?" Dean moved to Bobby's other side and grabbed the hand he held out. "Sam did a half-gainer down the stairs so he's gonna be cuddlin' the ice packs all day."

Bobby let Dean pull him to his feet where he swayed dizzily for a moment and slapped a hand to the back of his head. "Bitch cracked me over the back of the damn head." He looked at Dean. "Tell me she's dead."

Dean nodded and aimed a thumb at his brother. "Sam took her out." He pulled his brother along as they headed for the front door and the cars. "Blind."

"What?" Bobby turned to look at Sam and shook his head. "Horsecrap." He groaned and waved a hand while he clapped the other one over his pounding skull. "Tell me later when I can listen without pukin'."

A while later, Sam sat in the passenger seat of the Impala and watched the witch's house burst into roaring flames as his brother and Bobby walked back toward him. He thought he'd never seen anything more beautiful.

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_The End._

**Next Up:** hotshow


	13. Chapter 13 for hotshow

**Title:** Reader's Special: Fourth Edition - One Shot Reward Fic Collection

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** A collection of 1 Shot Reward Fics for Prompters of my Reader's Special: Fourth Edition. Features many seasons, hurt/limp/awesome/caring!Sam/Dean/John/Bobby See each chapter for specific info for each 1 shot reward fic.

**Author's Note:** The Reader's Special: Fourth Edition was a smashing success! Prompters of the story were offered a One Shot Reward story of their choice. These are they. None of the chapters contained in this collection are connected. Each one is a stand-alone one shot per the Prompters request. Thank you to all of you who prompted the Reader's Special! You were fantastic as always!

**Chapter Info:** For hotshow - In the episode "Slumber Party" (9th season), we saw that the witch had trashed the kitchen in the Men of Letters Bunker. The witch has been killed and Dorothy and Charlie have left, so Dean decides to clean the kitchen and Sam wants to help. Something happens, and Sam gets hurt while he is helping Dean clean the kitchen, and Dean has to not only look after Sam's injury but Sam as well. I don't want Sam's injury to be so bad that Ezekiel has to help heal him, but I also don't want the injury to be minor (i.e. not a Band-Aid cure). If possible, I don't want this to be a humor story, but a hurt/comfort story.

**A/N: **Alrighty! A little Winchester fluff, comfort and care post 9x04 "Slumber Party" might throw in some angst while I'm at it. Sam's whispering at me so… I'm a sucker for the puppy dog eyes. Lol

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

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Sam followed the sounds of cursing, bangs, and clatters down the hall and turned to look into the kitchen. "Whoa." He smirked when Dean popped up from the floor with a disgusted look on his face.

"Wanna gank that bitch all over again just for trashing my kitchen," Dean snarled and waved his hand around the disaster. Smashed dishes littered the counters and floor. Cabinet doors had been knocked off the hinges, and even some of the shelves were broken and hanging lopsided while cans and boxes of cereal and other things were spread across every surface.

Sam smirked. "Sort of looks like an angry twelve year old had a tantrum in here." He brushed his fingers through a layer of flour coating the wall and chuckled. "With a sledge hammer."

"Funny." Dean glared at his little brother. "How about you can the humor and help me clean this mess if you ever want a meal around here again."

"Alright. Take it easy." Sam chuckled and looked around. "What do you want me to do?"

Dean relented and smiled now that he had help restoring the kitchen; his kitchen, he thought to himself, and it was, his kitchen in their home, and it pissed him off that it had been violated. He grabbed a small bucket from the floor next to him, tossed it to his brother and waved at the smashed cabinet doors. "You can start by gettin' all the broken crap out of there." He picked up his dustpan and broom again. "It's like she was tryin' to nail all the dishes on purpose."

"Geez." Sam pulled a broken door off its last hinge and whistled. Every plate and bowl in the cabinet had been smashed to pieces. "So, paper plates for a while, huh?"

Dean snorted and knelt, working to corral a mess of uncooked rice and sugar that had been spread together across half the floor. He glanced up at his brother as he heard the tinkle of broken cookware. "You check on Crowley?"

Sam nodded and scooped another pile of jagged ceramic pieces into the bucket. "He said thanks for the conjugal visit, but next time can you send him someone…" Sam rolled his eyes. "…send him someone with a tongue he can actually use."

Dean couldn't stop the snicker. King of Hell he may be, but the bastard had a sense of humor Dean could sometimes appreciate. "That guy is such a douche." He shook his head and shifted aside when Sam gave him a nudge and moved next to him to start on the next cabinet. "Geez, do we have any dishes left?"

Sam chuckled and pulled a mug out with one hand. He held it down to his brother. "We'll have to share for coffee." He laughed when Dean grabbed the mug with an irritated growl and turned back to the cabinet. "Might be another one in here."

"I hate witches, man," Dean grumbled and brushed more rice, flour, and broken dishes into his pan. He nudged his brother's foot. "Lift. Think you're standin' on what's left of a salad plate." He smirked when Sam moved his foot and kicked it back at him. "Smartass."

Sam yelped in pain and dragged his right arm out of the cabinet as he staggered back a step. "Crap!"

"What? What happened?" Dean lurched to his feet and grabbed hold of his brother's arm. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw blood beginning to drip to the floor, mixing with the floor and rice into a lumpy red paste. "How the hell…"

"Knives," Sam said and gritted his teeth as he gave a nod to the cabinet. "There are a couple of damn knives hiding in there. Crap, that hurts."

"Ok, come on. Le'me look at it." Dean grabbed what appeared to be clean dishtowel from a drawer hanging half-open and, pressing it over the rapidly growing bloodstain on Sam's shirt, and pulled on his arm to get him out of the kitchen disaster.

"I can handle it. It's just a cut," Sam protested and rolled his eyes when he was ignored. "Dean."

"Sam." Dean continued to push him down the hall and gave him a nudge toward the nearest chair in the library. "Sit already while I grab the kit. Keep pressure on that."

Sam dropped into a chair and cradled his arm to him. It hurt like hell and once Dean was out of sight back down the hall, Sam curled over to rest his head on the table for just a second while the pain seemed to lance up into his shoulder. He jerked when a hand dropped on his shoulder and pulled his head up, surprised to find Dean kneeling beside him. "Dean?"

"Ok, change of plan. Bed. You need to be horizontal." Dean pushed Sam gently back and didn't like that blood had already soaked, the dishtowel, the sleeve of Sam's flannel, and had left a wide, red stain on his jeans. He pulled his brother's left arm over his shoulders and dragged him out of the chair. "You're losin' a little too much blood a little too fast here, buddy."

Sam nodded dizzily while Dean grabbed the first aid kit that had somehow appeared on the table. He let his brother guide his sluggish steps down the hall to his room and couldn't protest when Dean took a firmer hold and helped him to sit on his bed.

"Easy. Ok. Down you go." Dean lowered Sam's head and shoulders to his pillow and helped him get his legs up on the bed. He hooked the chair at his brother's desk over with a foot and sat.

"Only me," Sam said miserably and shook his head. "This is… this sucks."

"Yeah, you're graceful, Sammy." Dean smiled at his brother's glower and pulled the scissors out of the first aid kit. "You're also down a shirt." He cut the cuff open and laid the sleeve open as it was already torn from the knife almost to the elbow. "Shit, Sam." He scowled at the long cut in his brother's arm and shook his head as he grabbed gauze and disinfectant out of the kit. "You know, I never really paid much attention before, but the scars on your arms were gone when you, you know, got sprung from the Cage. Got one back now, dude."

Sam raised his head enough to look down at his arm and shivered with the old memory of a ghoul wearing Adam's face opening his arms up to bleed him dry. He dropped his head back with a groan. "Didn't miss those."

"Yeah, me either. This is gonna hurt," Dean warned him and poured disinfectant over the cut until he was satisfied and Sam was shaking. "Ok, take it easy. Done."

Sam loosened the fingers of his other hand from the bedspread and blew out a breath as the pain eased slightly. His head was swimming with the effects of blood loss and he could feel his stomach beginning to churn. Sam rolled his head to look at his brother as Dean bent over his wounded arm, trying to decide if he needed a tourniquet before going any further. "Have… have I lost too much?"

Dean looked up at him and smiled. "Nope. You're good." He said it firmly to try and allay Sam's fear and he knew it was true. If Sam's life were in danger, Sam wouldn't be talking to him right then. Dean ducked his head back down to wipe blood away from the cut so he could see it to stitch it. Ezekiel would have taken over already and healed him if Sam's life were in jeopardy. It was both comforting and frightening, especially after what had happened with Charlie. "Get this stitched up, you'll be good as new. Get comfy."

Sam nodded and closed his eyes while the room spun. "Might puke on you. Fair… fair warning." He heard Dean's snort of laughter and tried to relax when he felt the first bite and tug of the needle in his arm. He opened his eyes again and looked up at the ceiling. Sam realized this was the first chance he'd had since the witch and Charlie leaving to really think about any of it. He grimaced at the pull of a stitch and chewed on his bottom lip. A sick feeling was blowing through him with the knowledge that he'd been possessed… again. Castiel had long since removed the madness that had once nearly claimed his life, but the memories… and the fear… they were still there. There were few worse horrors he could think of than being trapped in your own mind and forced to watch yourself hurt the ones you love, and it was that fear that Lucifer had most often loved to torment him with, forcing Sam to kill his parents, Bobby, and Dean over and over until there had been days when Sam had clawed his _own_ eyes out just to escape if only for a moment. That he now had to add Charlie to the list of people he'd hurt while being used by some other entity was going to eat him up inside.

"Sammy."

Sam jerked his eyes open with a gasp to find Dean leaning over him and peering worriedly into his face. He felt his brother's hand heavy on his chest and the other holding his right arm still "Dean. What?"

"Should be askin' you that. You alright?" Dean watched Sam's eyes begin to settle and swallowed around his own fear. Sam had started trembling, his breaths hitching in and out of his chest, and Dean had looked up to find his little brother compulsively rubbing the palm of his left hand against his jeans, an action that had made Dean choke with his own fear for a moment. He hadn't seen that particular coping mechanism in a long time and wasn't happy about its return. "Talk to me, buddy. What's goin' on?"

"Sorry." Sam shook his head. "Nothing. It's… it's nothing."

"Nothing, my ass," Dean grumbled, but he sat back down and picked up his abandoned needle.

Sam could hear the hurt in his brother's voice at being shut out again and he blew out a breath. "I was just… it hit me, you know? I was possessed." He put his free hand up to cover his face miserably. "Again. And I can't…" Sam kept his face covered, not trusting himself to not cry just at that moment. "Feels like I lose a piece of myself every time."

Dean's heart leaped into his throat with Sam's words, and he kept his head down. It was an effort to stop his hands from shaking as he tied off the last few stitches near his brother's elbow. "Sammy…"

"I know. No one got hurt. Don't beat myself up. It turned out alright in the end." Sam let his arm thump back to the bed wearily and kept his eyes closed. "Doesn't change it, Dean. I can't stop feeling… violated." He laughed but it was a harsh bark of miserable humor.

"Stop it, Sammy." Dean finished bandaging his arm and moved to sit on the side of the bed next to Sam's hip so he could see him better. "This wasn't your fault. None of it… nothing that happens while you're on mental lockdown is your fault." He looked in Sam's eyes when they opened and, for just a second, would have sworn he could feel Ezekiel looking back at him, like a silent warning. Sam wasn't ready yet. He wasn't healed enough to survive on his own, and it didn't matter that it was killing Dean to lie to him… the alternative was watching his little brother die again and he couldn't. He couldn't do it. "It's gonna be alright. We're gonna get through this like we have everything else, and you're gonna be fine."

Sam gave him a watery smile, not believing that for one second, but he nodded. Dean needed to believe it. "Ok."

"Ok. Now how about you get some sleep?" Dean cleared away the supplies and stood. "Rack a couple hours and then I'll cook you some tomato and rice soup or something."

Sam laughed and this time it felt more real. He rolled onto his right side, leaving his arm stretched on the bed and nodded. "Sounds good, Dean."

"Awesome." Dean pulled a blanket up over his brother's legs and flipped the light off on his way out the door. He stopped and looked back at Sam, highlighted in the sliver of light from the hallway. "It will be alright, Sammy. I promise."

"I know, Dean," Sam said tiredly as he drifted off. "Long's you're around."

Dean pulled the door quickly closed and covered his face in his hands. The guilt was choking him, and he wondered if, when it was finally safe to tell his brother about Ezekiel, if Sam would ever forgive him… if he even deserved it anymore. "I'm sorry, Sammy," Dean whispered and headed back to the kitchen to clean as he wiped tears from his eyes.

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_The End. _

**Next Up:** NiDubhchair


	14. Chapter 14 for NiDubhchair

**Title:** Reader's Special: Fourth Edition - One Shot Reward Fic Collection

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** A collection of 1 Shot Reward Fics for Prompters of my Reader's Special: Fourth Edition. Features many seasons, hurt/limp/awesome/caring!Sam/Dean/John/Bobby See each chapter for specific info for each 1 shot reward fic.

**Author's Note:** The Reader's Special: Fourth Edition was a smashing success! Prompters of the story were offered a One Shot Reward story of their choice. These are they. None of the chapters contained in this collection are connected. Each one is a stand-alone one shot per the Prompters request. Thank you to all of you who prompted the Reader's Special! You were fantastic as always!

**Chapter Info:** For NiDubhchair - would it be possible to do a Teen!chester fic? In my head Dean is about 19 and Sam about 15,. I just like them when they're young & innocent ;-) my eye was caught by a news story about a father in Missouri who was tackled and tasered by police to keep him from running back into a burning building to save his toddler. The awfulness of the scenario tripped my hurt!guilty!Dean trigger, of course *evil laugh* So, I'd like to see a story where the brothers run afoul of some mean cops in a small town. Maybe they beat on Sam a little and Dean stands up to them and embarasses them. Later, the boys are on a ghost hunt or something and the building they're in catches fire. Sam is trapped inside and Dean is violently prevented from running in to save him by the same cops that harassed them earlier

**A/N: **Pre-series. Sam 15/Dean 19 as requested. I abridged the prompt here a little. It was much longer. Lol :D Oh, I think I can definitely have some with this one. :P Heh heh heh Oh, Dean. I do love you. Just remember that.

**Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P**

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Sam grumbled when Dean hip-checked him for a third time as they walked. "Knock it off, jerk!"

Dean chuckled. "Bitch." He slung an arm over Sam's shoulders and tried not to be concerned that in the last year, his once too-short little brother had shot up and was only four or five inches shorter than he was now, and he still had a couple years of growing to do. "So, what do you say you go do research in the library while I check out that little bar next door. Could be someone worth talkin' to."

Sam rolled his eyes fondly. "Dad said for us both to do the research, dumbass."

"Hey, Dad knows you're the research genius around here." Dean grinned down at him and ruffled his hair. "Unless you want me irritatin' your short ass for two or three hours."

"No thanks!" Sam gave his brother a push when they reached the library and hitched his backpack higher on his shoulder.

"You can fill me in when you're done." Dean's smile faded slightly and he fixed Sam with a serious look. "You need to go anywhere else before I get back, you call me. Don't talk to nobody you don't have to…"

"Geez, Dean. I know. I'm fifteen, not five." Sam rolled his eyes again, this time in exasperation, and ducked away from the hand Dean reached toward his hair. "See you in a couple hours."

Dean dug a wallet out of his jacket and smiled. "Agent Conway's gonna go have a beer and see if the locals know anything."

Sam laughed and headed into the library. "You don't look old enough to be an agent, you know!" he called over his shoulder and looked back to see Dean flip him off with a grin. He snorted a laugh and went inside, out of the cold with a grateful shiver as the library's warm air brushed his face.

Dean watched his brother duck under a low-hanging sign before he moved out of sight and shook his head. "Kid's gonna turn into a damn sasquatch or somethin' at this rate." He strode around the side of the library and smiled at the little bar tucked back beside it, straightened his jacket, and crossed the lot. Dean pushed through the doors and nodded when the bartender looked over and quirked a brow at him.

"Too young to be in here, son." The bartender called and moved down the bar toward him.

Dean chuckled and pulled out his fake badge. "I'm older than I look… son." He let the bartender have a look and then flipped it closed as he perched on the nearest barstool.

"Huh." The bartender eyed the badge distrustfully, looking back and forth and finally shrugged. "What'll it be, agent?"

"Whatever's on tap." Dean smiled and slid a ten across the bar when the bartender set a beer in front of him, foam sloshing from the top of the glass to roll down the side. "So, we've been askin' around about the fires. Know anything that might help us?"

The bartender's brows rose in surprise. "You came in here looking for information?"

"Bartenders know everything," Dean said and winked. "You guys hear it all. So, come on. What do you know?"

"Well," The bartender chuckled because the man was right. "Can't say I've heard much, really, apart from the usual gossip." He leaned on the bar and shrugged. "Folks are scared, of course. Houses just bursting into flames? Cops don't give a crap, but that ain't new."

Dean nodded and sipped his beer. "They never do. What else?"

"Well, Barry. He's one of the local firefighters. He was in here a few nights ago." The bartender looked around to make sure the few other patrons in the bar weren't listening before he spoke again. "He said they can't find a cause for the fires, but they keep smelling something weird at all the crime scenes."

Dean straightened. "Define 'weird'."

"Well, he said they smell like… rotten eggs or something, which apparently don't make a lick of sense." The bartender shrugged again. "He says all the places that've gone up had electric. No gas. So that smell shouldn't have been there. He can't figure it out." He sighed sadly. "Folks are still trying to get over that fire three days ago. The Johnson family. Whole damn family."

"I know." Dean drank down more of his beer and felt for the dead family. He didn't have to imagine what that horror had looked like; he'd seen it himself fifteen years ago. He shook the memory off and picked up his beer again. "Anything else?"

Dean had spoken to everyone in the bar, though that amounted to six people, when he looked at his watch and realized it'd been over two hours. "Crap." He drained the rest of his beer and set the empty glass on the bar. "Hey, thanks man." Dean gave the bartender a wave and headed out the door, the beers he'd drank giving him only the slightest buzz. The cold air that hit his face when he stepped outside took care of that, and he pulled his leather jacket more tightly around him as he broke into a brisk walk up the side of the library toward the front and his brother.

The sound of raised voices carried around the building as Dean neared the corner, and he picked up his pace. They sounded angry and he broke into a run when he realized one of them was his brother's. "Sam?" Dean called and slid to a stop at the sight before him. Four officers surrounded his brother who was, as Dean watched, picking himself up off the ground only to be knocked down again when the tallest of the four kicked one of his feet out from under him. "HEY!"

The officers turned in surprise and the two nearest backed away out of instinct when the tall man in the leather coat ran for them. "Back off, kid. This ain't none of your business."

"Like hell it's not! That's my brother you're screwin' with!" Dean put his hands on the chest of the officer who had kicked Sam and shoved him hard enough that the man staggered back and landed on his ass. "Sammy?" He took his brother's hand and pulled Sam to his feet. "You alright? What the hell's goin' on?"

"Your brother, huh?" The officer Dean had knocked down got back to his feet and moved to stand with the others. "You better teach that little shit not to talk to people he's got no business talkin' to. My daughter ain't gonna put up with some trashy drifter makin' eyes at her."

"I didn't… I just said hi." Sam moved in against his brother and held onto his coat. "She was just… she dropped her books and I picked them up for her. That's all."

"Bullshit."

Dean pushed Sam behind him when the cop swore and stalked toward them. "You better back the hell off now," Dean warned. It hurt to hear his brother sound that scared, and it pissed him off.

"We're cops, you little shit." The officer Dean had shoved stuck his chest out. "What do you think you're gonna do about it?"

Dean pushed Sam further back and rolled out his shoulders. "I think if you're stupid enough to touch me, I'm gonna knock all four of you on your asses and you're gonna watch me walk away with my little brother when I'm done."

One of the cops snorted derisively. "What makes you think that's gonna happen?"

Dean grinned dangerously. "The cameras on the door of the library that face right. Out. Here. I don't think anyone's gonna have a problem seeing that you were assaulting a little kid in front of a library. That'll look great in court. Go on. Try it."

"Dean," Sam said softly, but his big brother flicked his fingers in the sign that meant back up. Sam sighed, still frightened, but did what he was told. He backed away and gave Dean the space he was going to need if one of the cops got stupid. Sam couldn't help rolling his eyes when the father of the girl he'd talked to reached out and fisted a hand in his brother's jacket. "Idiot."

Dean grabbed the man's wrist, twisted his fingers free from his jacket and kicked one of his knees out from under him. He spun landed a back-handed fist on the next cop who came for him that sent that man to his knees with a grunt. Dean took a firmer hold on the first cop's arm and put all his weight into throwing the man into the two remaining officers, sending all three tumbling to the ground in a heap. Dean brushed his hands off and walked back to his brother. "Don't you screw with my family again or I'll be back for those surveillance tapes. Come on, Sammy."

Sam didn't argue when Dean threw an arm around his shoulders and pulled him in. He slipped his arm around his brother's waist and let himself be held. They'd scared him. "Sorry, Dean."

"For what, midget?" Dean glanced down at him and then back to be sure the cops weren't following. They weren't, but the girl's father was glaring daggers at their backs. Dean grinned and turned away. "You didn't do anything wrong, alright? Except maybe leavin' the library without callin' me."

"I didn't!" Sam looked up with big, sad eyes. "I swear, I didn't, Dean! That cop, her dad? He pulled me out when he saw me giving her her books and talkin', and he just…"

"Hey! Hey. Calm down, kiddo. I'm not mad at you. Come on." Dean pulled him in tighter as they walked. "You know that, right?"

Sam nodded and tried to calm down. "Those cops are assholes."

Dean laughed and nodded. "Yeah, they usually are. Hey, how about we not tell Dad, huh?"

"Oh, hell no," Sam said quickly. "He'd lose it!"

"Seriously." Dean pulled his brother around the corner and spotted the Impala where he'd left her just as the meter beside her dinged and went red. "Perfect timing! Go on, get in. We'll pick up some pizza and go over your research before Dad gets back. Plan?"

"Plan." Sam agreed happily and ran around the car to open the door and slide into the passenger seat. He exhaled noisily with relief when the doors were closed and the engine rumbled to life and smiled a little sheepishly when Dean chuckled and patted his shoulder.

"Don't worry about it, Sammy." Dean smiled and pulled out, putting idiot police officers out of his mind.

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Dean pulled up and parked down the street from their intended house. He looked at it through the windshield and shook his head. "You sure about this?" The house was four stories and big, meant to house multiple families. Their dad had made a call a few hours earlier warning all the residents of electrical problems and ordering them to vacate, and, from the darkened windows, it looked like they had. Whatever happened tonight, if they were lucky, there wouldn't be any civilian casualties.

Sam nodded. "Yep. All the fires follow a pattern. Time, type of building, and locations spiraling out from the first, so it's either gonna be this house…"

"Or the one over on Main where Dad went. Ok." Dean shut off the engine and opened his door. "Let's go kick some ass, little brother."

Sam smiled, climbed out, and went to the trunk. "I could be wrong, you know," he said suddenly. "About it not being a demon. What if I am, Dean? What if it IS the thing that killed… killed Mom."

"Hey." Dean put the trunk up and clapped a hand to his little brother's shoulder. "Dad says you're right, you're right. I trust ya, kiddo."

Sam beamed with the praise and took the gun his brother handed him. He tucked it into the back of his pants and then grabbed the straps of the backpack. "I'm still not sure I like this plan."

Dean smirked, put the heavy duffel over his shoulder and closed the trunk. "Only plan we got." He gave his brother's shoulder a push down the sidewalk. "I'll keep Sparky the Fire Elemental busy while you pour the circle, and then we'll hose him." He patted his duffel and the two fire extinguishers inside it.

"Unless it turns up at Dad's house instead." Sam shrugged and worried about their father facing the thing alone.

"Don't jinx us, dude!" Dean chuckled. "Never seen an elemental before, and _we're_ gonna bag this bitch, not Dad."

Sam gave a soft laugh as they neared the house and shook his head. "You like doin' this stuff way too much, dude."

"A happy man is a man who loves his work, Sammy." Dean grinned and took a careful look up and down the street to make sure it was clear before turning them up the walk to the large house.

Sam sighed and didn't answer. Unlike his brother, he couldn't see spending the rest of his life doing this, travelling from motel to job to motel and butting heads with his dad every time he wanted a little slice of normal. He watched Dean try the knob on the front door and then step back, raising a brow at Sam. "Right." Sam smirked and pulled his lockpicks from his back pocket.

"Maybe I should get out the stopwatch," Dean said and chuckled.

"Won't have time," Sam said distractedly as he slid the picks into the door. He gave a practiced twitch with his fingers while he saw Dean's hand go into his pocket and then pulled his picks out.

"Givin' up already, squirt?" Dean asked in surprise.

Sam gave the knob a turn and pushed the door open. "You were saying?"

"Ha. Ha. Don't get cocky, Sammy," Dean said and followed him in with a grin. He squeezed his little brother's shoulder to let him know he was proud of him and looked around the entry hall. "Where you wanna do this?"

Sam looked up the stairs and nodded. "Next floor up. There's a common area or something on the floor plan. That should give us plenty of room."

"Good idea. Let's go." Dean jogged up the stairs with Sam at his back. "Which way?"

Sam moved ahead of him and led the way down the dimly lit hall. "Should be back here, right… about…" Sam gave a set of double doors a push and smiled. "… here."

"Nice." Dean nodded as they walked into what looked like a day room. Couches and chairs lined the walls. There were a few small televisions, some bookshelves, and a row of windows along one wall. He went to a couple of low coffee tables in the middle of the room and gave them each a kick out of the way so they had a clear area to work.

"You know what to do?" Sam asked his brother and set his backpack down. He opened it and pulled out two cans of salt and a bag of cat's eye shells.

"Yep." Dean came over and thumped his duffel down next to his brother. He unzipped it and pulled the extinguishers out, setting them on the floor. He pulled a candle out of his pocket and set it down in the middle of the floor, then his lighter, and quickly lit it. "I get to stand out here with the open flame and look tasty for Sparky."

Sam smiled and shook his head. "Try not to get burned up, please?" He pulled the two incantations they'd need from his pocket and unfolded them. "Here." He handed one to his brother and then moved back to the door.

Dean sighed and rolled his shoulders. "How come this crap can't ever be written in English? Friggin' Latin."

Sam chuckled and picked up the two salt canisters. He knew he was going to have to be fast to trap the elemental before it could hurt his brother. "Ok, go."

Dean began the incantation and kept his eyes on the candle as he wrapped his tongue around the Latin. He was maybe halfway through when the candle began to gutter. The flame spurted up several inches and Dean took a step back. It shot a few feet into the air and he took another step, never breaking his rhythm with the spell.

Sam waited, trembling with nerves while Dean's steady voice filled the room. He bit his lip as the flame on the candle began to shoot higher while wax pooled around its base. His brother finished the spell, and Sam gasped as the little flame became an inferno, reaching up to the ceiling. Within the tightly coiled fire there was a dark figure and it turned toward his brother.

Dean waved a hand out to his brother and put his attention on the elemental. "How you doin', torch boy. Flame on, huh?" He grinned and dodged back from a spurt of fire. Dean chuckled. "Touchy."

Sam started pouring a heavy circle of salt, getting as close as he dared. Every so often he fumbled a cat's eye shell from his pocket and laid it atop the line to strengthen the ward, all while Dean continued to taunt the elemental and keep its attention focused on him.

Dean kept track of Sam's progress from the corner of his eye and dropped to his knees when the elemental sent another spurt of flame toward his head. "Hey! Not the hair, asshole!" He looked up and saw the ceiling tiles above them beginning to blacken and smoke and frowned. "Ok, that's not good." He watched the elemental turn suddenly to look at Sam who was close to finishing the circle and Dean snarled. "Nope." He pulled a flask of holy water from his pocket, twisted the cap off and splashed it into the flames. "Hey! Asshole! Eyes over here!" The elemental roared as the water struck it and turned back to Dean.

"Crap," Sam breathed and moved faster to cover the last few feet to his starting point. He closed the salt circle and set down another cat's eye shell and turned to his brother. "Dean! Get out of there!"

"Don't have to tell me twice!" Dean yelped as the flames rushed toward him again and dove over the salt line. He rolled to his feet and slapped out the sleeve of his jacket with a snarl.

"You alright?" Sam grabbed his brother's arm and looked, relieved to see the leather was just slightly singed.

"Let's do this." Dean smiled and went to the extinguishers. He gave one to Sam and brought the other one up, freeing the hose. The elemental raged inside the circle with flames bursting out and washing up against the salt line like an invisible wall. The ceiling above, however, was burning as Dean watched. "Quicker the better. I don't like the looks of that."

"Me either." Sam stepped up to the edge of the circle and moved around across from his brother. "Ready?"

"Let her rip!" Dean grinned and squeezed the handle on his extinguisher.

Sam propped the canister under one arm and started the nozzle spraying foam into the circle. He pulled the banishing spell out of his pocket with his other hand and started reading it.

Dean chuckled as the elemental roared flames around itself in a bid for escape while steam and smoke began to fill the room. "Suck foam, Sparky!" he called with a laugh.

Sam grinned as he continued the Latin. He neared the end of the spell and looked up to find the elemental had expanded to fill the salt circle in its rage. The ceiling above it was black, and he could see flickers of fire above the ceiling tiles through the steam. He spoke the last few words and staggered back to land on his backside when the elemental seemed to explode inside the circle.

Dean grunted as he thumped into the wall behind him. He blinked and grinned as the elemental began to collapse in on itself. "Nice. Sammy?" He shook his head and moved out from the wall. The steam and smoke cleared a little, and he saw his little brother climbing to his feet across from him. "Hey! You alright?"

"Yeah." Sam rubbed his butt with a rueful smile and started around the circle toward his brother. He was sure the elemental was dead or nearly, but he wasn't willing to risk breaking the circle just in case. "I'm goo…" he gasped and jerked himself backward as some of the ceiling above him crashed down in a hail of flames and cinders. "Dean?"

"Sammy!" Dean yelled and had to duck away as more of the ceiling collapsed. "Holy crap!" The elemental's flames had eaten into the ceiling above the circle and Dean could hear a fire roaring above them now. With the creature dead, the flames were no longer contained within the circle.

"Dean!" Sam stumbled through a haze of smoke and reached his brother. "This isn't good."

"No shit. We gotta get outta here. Come on!" Dean ducked low as he began to cough and headed for the door.

"Right behind you!" Sam shouted.

Dean glanced back and felt Sam's hand land on his back. He nodded and broke into a run for the stairs as the flames started creeping down from the ceiling to eat along the walls, and smoke started to fill the hall. He pounded down the stairs with his arms over his head as more flaming bits of ceiling tile fell and reached the street, gasping for breath. There was a small crowd of onlookers and a few police officers. Dean dismissed them and turned as he reached the sidewalk to check on his brother. The bottom fell out of Dean's world as the air punched out of his lungs. Sam wasn't behind him anymore. "SAM!" How had he not kept Sam behind him? Why didn't he make him go first? How had he let his little brother out of his sight in a burning building? Guilt sank into Dean's stomach like a weight along with the heart-stopping realization that his brother was probably dead and it was his fault. "No," Dean whispered in horror.

"Hey!"

Dean ignored the voice behind him and started back toward the building. He took only a step before someone tackled him from behind. He hit the ground hard and rolled, kicking the man off him. Dean realized with a spurt of surprise that it was the officer whose daughter Sam had spoken too. "Do not have TIME for you!" He kicked the officer's shoulder and surged back to his feet.

"No, you don't, kid."

Dean heard the threat and then shouted in pain as something sharp hooked into his chest and an electrical current roared through him. He hit the ground on his back, only distantly feeling it as the voltage from the taser continued to course. Dean sagged and gasped for breath when the current was finally cut. The only thought in his head was Sam and the fear was beginning to choke him.

"Wait! Wait!" Dean panted and held up a hand. "My brother!" He waved a shaky arm toward the now wildly burning house. "He's in there!"

"Probably shouldn't'a set it on fire then, huh?"

"Wha'?" Dean stared in shock and then grunted as the air was knocked out of him with the officer's boot in his stomach. He rolled his head up and saw two more of the officers he'd knocked down early and groaned. The sound was cut off as the taser was turned on and he jerked helplessly in its grip.

"Bet you don't feel so big now, huh, asshole?" The first officer asked with a grin and delivered another kick to the young man's back. "Still think you can knock us down? Teach you a little respect for the law, you punk! See if you can…" The officer grunted as something hard impacted his back and he was rolled across the ground along with another of his officers. He shook his head and looked up to watch as a man as tall as the one on the ground but scruffier and harder looking stalked toward him with eyes that screamed rage as they glared down at him.

"Three cops to beat up one kid?" John Winchester turned, spun and delivered a roundhouse kick to the last cop standing over his son and holding that damn taser. The officer's head snapped back and he fell to the ground, still. "You're gonna regret layin' a hand on my son. Dean?"

"Dad," Dean gasped. He reached down and yanked the taser's hooks out of his skin then scrambled shakily to his feet.

"Where's Sammy?" John frowned as he glanced quickly around and didn't see his youngest.

"No." Dean shook his head and took off at a run for the burning house.

"Dean!" John yelled after him and then it struck him. There was only one reason Dean would go running into a burning building. "Oh, God. Sammy." He shook himself when the two officers in front of him started to move again. He stomped on the hand of one of the men when he reached for his gun. John yanked the pistol free of its holster while the man shouted. He gave a hard kick to the head of the last man who bore the evidence on his face of having gone a round with his eldest at some point. John tossed the gun into the grass and watched his eldest vanish into the house.

Dean wrapped an arm around his aching ribs and put his other across his face as he rushed through the door and into the heavy smoke. "Sammy!" he shouted hoarsely and started up the stairs. Flaming debris fell and floated from the floor above. He felt his hair singing and had to duck away from the wall along the stairs as fire ate down the wallpaper. It was a growing inferno, and every moment that Sam wasn't in his sight made it hard to breathe, never mind the smoke. Dean's eyes watered furiously as he reached the top of the stairs and saw that most of the ceiling had caved in. "SAMMY!" He coughed and then he heard it, just under the roar of the fire, a thin voice calling his name. "SAM! I'm comin'!" Dean followed the sound of his brother's voice. He staggered around a pile of burning debris and saw another head. Flames licked at the top of the pile along what looked like a ceiling beam and under it, beneath the beam and a collection of tiles, Sam's head stuck out.

Sam coughed and gasped, trying to catch his breath. He lifted his head up and his already watering eyes streamed tears when he saw Dean's legs in front of him and then his brother's face was there. "Dean," he gasped on a cough and let his eyes close in relief when his brother's hands went into his hair.

"Sammy." Dean held on to his head for a moment and then smiled. "Gonna get you outta this, ok? Just hang on."

"Fell on me..." Sam gasped and coughed into the floor again. "…was followin' you."

Dean squeezed the back of Sam's neck for a second and then knelt up over him. He shoved his hands into the pile and braced a foot on the floor. He growled with effort as he pushed and put all his weight behind it, ignoring the licks of flame that crawled toward him. It didn't matter because Dean was either going to get Sammy out of there or die trying. Finally, the pile of debris and the ceiling beam moved and tumbled back into the hall. Dean staggered and then dropped next to his brother, slapping smoldering ceiling tiles off his back. "Sammy?"

Sam nodded wearily and rolled to his side. He held up an arm and let Dean haul him to his feet. His lungs were burning, and standing set him coughing hard enough to double him over and leave him gasping on his knees.

"Crap. Ok." Dean pulled Sam's arm over his shoulders and slid another under his knees. "Up we go." He staggered to his feet again with his brother coughing into his neck and turned to the stairs and the hail of sparks and flaming tiles falling. Dean swallowed hard and started down.

John Winchester stood on the sidewalk watching the house burn. The upper floors were engulfed with flames climbing into the night sky. He fought his instinct to run in himself, knowing it would be impossible to see anything and he had no idea in which direction his boys would have gone. He could hear the wail of sirens in the distance and the men at his feet were forgotten as his sons emerged from a door wreathed in fire. Dean staggered into view with his brother held in his arms and the scene was so close, so reminiscent of fifteen years ago, that John's knees went weak as he moved toward them. He grabbed hold of Dean's shoulders when they reached him and went to his knees along with his eldest in remembered pain and terror. "Dean. Is he…"

"He's alive," Dean gasped and coughed, hunching over his brother and let his head thump into his father's shoulder weakly. "S'alive."

John pulled them both in and dropped his face into Sam's dark hair. All he could smell was smoke, but he heard Sam's wheezing, coughing breaths and it brought tears to his eyes with relief. "You're ok. You're both ok."

"Hey, you son'fa bitch!" The officer that had hassled both boys because of his daughter climbed to his feet and put a hand on his gun as he looked at the three people on the ground. He scowled when a group of people moved in between them. "Get the hell outta the way!" In response, the small crowd closed ranks, all of them looking at him with anger in their faces.

"You best move on now, son," One old man stepped forward and crossed his arms over his chest. "Saw whatch'a did to that boy there. We ain't lettin' you beat on that family no more."

"I'm a cop!"

"You're wearin' a badge. Don't make you one a the good guys." The old man nodded and stepped back with the others.

The officer stared and threw off the hand that took his arm, trying to pull him away. "You gotta be kiddin' me!"

"Come on!" One of the other officers pulled on his arm and dragged him back a few steps. "Man, we're gonna get nailed if they ask these folks what happened! We gotta get outta here!"

The old man watched the cops drag their fellow officer away and moved through the crowd to the family still kneeling on the grass. He knelt beside the father and touched his shoulder lightly. "I'm thinkin' you all oughta be getting' outta here before there's real trouble."

John nodded and smiled. "Thank you." He looked back at his sons and palmed the side of Dean's face, lifting his head. "Hey, Ace. You think you can walk? Just to the car, ok?"

Dean nodded wearily and fought back the urge to cough some more. "Can do it. Just help me get 'im up."

"No problem." John stood on weak legs, still dealing with the shock of what had nearly happened and brought Dean and Sam up with him. "Sammy?"

Sam blinked and nodded to his father. "Hey… hey, Dad."

John blinked suspiciously damp eyes and started them moving down the street toward the Impala. He'd come back for his truck later. Right now he wanted his boys safe. "Hey, Sammy. You're gonna be fine, son." He shepherded them back to the car and opened the back door, letting Dean climb in the backseat with his brother. Somehow, Dean managed to get both himself and Sam's lanky body inside like it was nothing, and John closed the door before jogging around to the driver's side. He looked back at the burning house and swallowed hard around the lump of fear still lodged in his throat. For a moment, all he could see was their little white house as it burned and took his Mary with it. John shook himself and climbed behind the wheel. He looked in the rearview mirror at his sons, huddled together in the back seat and closed his eyes for a moment to say a silent thanks.

"Ok, Sammy?" Dean tipped his brother's head back and got a tired nod.

"Yeah." Sam coughed again and didn't feel like making a stink about still being cradled in his brother's arms like a kid. He needed it. "I'm good."

"Yeah, you are." Dean pulled him in and held on to him as their dad drove them away and to safety. Sam could tease him later about being a clingy girl if he wanted to but the fear was still too fresh, the terror of having nearly lost him to fire still too painful. He needed to feel Sam's heart beating under his arm. "Sorry, tiger. Should'a made sure you were behind me."

Sam shook his head into his brother's neck and fisted a hand in his leather jacket. "Not your fault. I'm the idiot…" he stopped and coughed to clear his throat. "…the idiot who didn't look up while I was running."

Dean smiled and carded a hand back through Sam's hair. "Next time I'm puttin' you on a damn leash."

"Are not, jerk." Sam said and rolled his eyes.

"You watch me, bitch." Dean grinned.

"Boys." John gave a soft chuckle and glanced at them in the mirror again, meeting Dean's eyes in the mirror and saw the same need to protect reflected there.

"Little pink leash with rhinestone studs, Sammy," Dean promised with a laugh and knew he was only half-kidding. He sighed and smiled when Sam chuckled, settled in against his chest and went heavy with exhaustion. Dean tightened his arms around his little brother reflexively. "I gotcha, Sammy."

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_The End._

**Next Up:** Vanessa Sgroi


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